Not content with almost drowning at the tubing, within 2 days we were back in the river, this time for a spot of white-water kayaking. As you do.
We'd had a day of just relaxing by the river in hammocks and reading our books, watching a perfect sunset behind the mountains, and had seen several groups of kayakers passing by. We'd occasionally glance up lazily and offer a gentle wave, but by the end of the day we were dying (not literally, we hoped) to have a go ourselves. Richard and Bongo were up for it to, which was a touch as we'd nominated them as our dedicated lifesavers.
After yet another full English (note to self:must join gym when we get home), we passed the usual tuk-tuk-load of invalids being shipped back from the local medical centre after their tubing and stepped up to the watersports centre, bold as brass.
After shelling out for the pleasure of 3 terrifying hours kayaking down a fast-running, obstacle-filled river we climbed aboard the tuk-tuk with our kayaks on the roof and we were off.
Within about 10 minutes of our kayaking lesson and then sliding gently into the murky water, Liam and I had capsized, which I wasn't impressed about as I'd just applied my mascara and GHD'd my hair. We'd been going well, working as a team (will wonders never cease?) and were feeling confident when we'd come to a rapid and hit a rogue tree branch jutting out of the water, sending us flying.
This time, however, we had the sense to wear lifejackets, not too proud to look like geeks if it meant we'd actually finish the trip with a pulse.
Trying to clamber back into the boat was not easy with a strong current dragging you forwards over rocks and it was with a most ungainly fling of my legs that I managed to haul myself aboard, drowned-rat stylee. Not a good look."Why didn't I bring my compact for touch-ups?" I berated myself, "or at the very least some battery-operated straighteners".
Richard and Bongo watched with amusement, that is until they too capsized a while later. This kayaking business is not as easy as it looks...
We were grateful when our guide suggested we take a breather at the tubing bars further upstream, and we left him in charge of the kayaks whilst we had a quick Beerlao..and another...and another.
Funnily enough, we were all much better at kayaking after a few beers, were much more co-ordinated as we rowed and steered our way down the river like an olympic team...
That evening we celebrated our watersports prowess with a few whisky buckets at the Smile Bar in town and planned our next leg of our visit to Laos. We'd already stayed in Vang Vieng for 2 nights more than our planned 3 nights,such was the beauty of the area, and although we could've stayed there much longer we knew that we really should continue our journey to Luang Prabang, 6 hours north by bus...
About Me
- Sam and Liam
- We wanted to celebrate our 10 year anniversary with a holiday we'd never forget - we reckon 6 months of travelling the world (from trekking on the Inca Trail and through the Amazon to riding an elephant in Thailand) should just about cover it!
Sunday, 15 February 2009
Tubing down the Mekong in Vang Vieng
The bus journey to Vang Vieng takes a mere 4 hours from Vientiane - I don't think we could've handled another nerve-fraying all-dayer on a ramshackle local bus, so were grateful for the short journey time.
We were sad to leave Vientiane, but fickle tourists that we are, instantly fell in love with Vang Viene and it's setting, and Vientiane was forgotton almost immediately.
We stepped off the bus, attempted unsuccessfully to persuade a tuk-tuk driver to take us to a guesthouse (he told us to walk and promptly went back to sleep - so refreshing!) and started walking down to the riverside in search of accommodation. The sun was beating down on us and our packs are getting heavier by the day (plus I was carrying that huge chunk of antique wood under my arm too!) so we couldn't wait to find somewhere and settle down with a Beerlao (the local beverage).
We discovered a bamboo bridge, stumbled across it and collapsed at the nearest guesthouse. Unfortunately it was already full but the kindly landlady directed us to another cluster of bamboo huts nearby, where we agreed a price of 80,000 kip per night, which is a satifyingly cheap 7 quid between us. Nice!
Now the accommodation was basic - a bamboo room on stilts with a bed, mozzie net and small shower and toilet - but when the view is as amazing as the one we had it was an absolute steal. There was a hammock on our veranda, where you could kick back,relax and take in the stunning scenery - huge,steamy mountain ranges, lush green valleys, the Mekong river where cows and water buffalo were drinking and local children were playing on little wooden boats. It was one of the most idyllic scenes of th entire trip and we sat for a while drinking it all in, all too aware that in a few short weeks we'd be back in the ratrace of London life...
Shrugging off such depressing thoughts we explored the town, which took all of about 20 minutes. Vang Vieng is small, full of tourists (unfortunately, but as we are tourists too we are hardly in a position to complain) and is set up for fun, fun, fun...
We had a few refreshing beers (yep, I'm even drinking beer now like a real traveller) and bumped into Richard and Bongo for the umpteenth time. As everyone is doing a similar route it's not uncommon to come across the same faces in several different countries. We decided to make a plan for the next day - partaking of the local pastime...TUBING.
The next morning we had a full English to line our stomachs for the day ahead and joined the queue to go tubing. Although we'd seen various injured foreigners sheepishly hobbling around town the previous evening and blaming it all on the perilous tubing, we were undeterred and eagerly signed the disclaimer to say that yes, we could swim, and no, if one of us drowned/injured ourselves we wouldn't take legal action. We should have taken heed of the fact that the entire town looked like they should be on the set of casualty, such were the number of bandaged invalids. I did give Liam a knowing look as he happily signed away that yes he could swim and pointed out the lifejackets but he was full of male bravado and was having none of it. Little did we know what was to come...(cue ominous music)
For those of you not in the know, "tubing" involves floating down the Mekong river in a huge lorry tyre inner tube, being carried along by the current. The riverbanks are lined with myriad bars blaring out house music and have a general party atmosphere. The bar staff throw you a rope and pull you towards their bar, then when you are close enough they stick out a bamboo pole, you grab it, and they haul you into their bar.Genius! Cue lots of dancing, drinking, sliding down giant slides and swinging from zip lines. Brilliant fun, but with an air of danger - water, rocks, ropes and alcohol don't always mix so well...
We arrived, rubber rings in hand, and had a quick drink at the first bar for dutch courage before flinging ourselves into the murky water in our tubes. The water seemed relatively calm as we were carried gently upstream. I stopped worrying about Liam's lack of swimming skills as we had great fun being hauled from one bar to the next against a stunning backdrop of mountains and lush green forests,with all our favourite house tunes filling the air.
After several hours and several beers, we were happily dancing away at a bamboo bar on stilts above the river when I realised that all the tubes had gone.Had they been pinched by fellow travellers who'd swum to the bars then nabbed a tube without paying, or was it a cunning ploy by the tube owners so that people couldn't get their 7 quid deposits back? We'll never know...Noone seemed too bothered by this fact and insisted that we could easily swim or even wade to the next bar, which was only a few hundred metres away.
Bolstered by booze, we all agreed to wade through the shallow water to the next bar. As we climbed into the cold water, I was aware that the current here was much stronger, but we just lifted our feet and allowed the current to pull us along. There was quite a large group of us, and I was slightly ahead of Liam. Suddenly, the shallow water became really deep and my feet were swept from under me, forcing me to swim the rest of the way. Liam had been practising his swimming throughout the trip so I wasn't yet worried, but as I turned around I realised that Liam was in difficulty, thrashing about and going under the water. I quickly jumped back in, grabbed him and tried to keep his head above the surface whilst I was treading water. Unfortunately I never did finish my lifesaving certificate wearing PJ's in the school pool and found to my horror that I kept going under too, gulping huge mouthfuls of brown water. Catching sight of our friend Bongo I screamed at him to help me and luckily he quickly swam over and helped me drag Liam out. If is sounds dramatic, it was. Panting on the riverbank, we were all a little shaken, shocked at what had happened and how easily it could have turned to tragedy.
6 foot 4 Bongo had saved the day (with a little help from me, of course), and we were suddenly on some kind of adrenaline high at the realisation of the severity of what had just transpired. (We'd later find out that there are several drownings at this spot every year).
Relieved and charged up from our near-death experience, we all headed to the next bar to buy Bongo a celebratory beer, chinking bottles at our good fortune.....
We were sad to leave Vientiane, but fickle tourists that we are, instantly fell in love with Vang Viene and it's setting, and Vientiane was forgotton almost immediately.
We stepped off the bus, attempted unsuccessfully to persuade a tuk-tuk driver to take us to a guesthouse (he told us to walk and promptly went back to sleep - so refreshing!) and started walking down to the riverside in search of accommodation. The sun was beating down on us and our packs are getting heavier by the day (plus I was carrying that huge chunk of antique wood under my arm too!) so we couldn't wait to find somewhere and settle down with a Beerlao (the local beverage).
We discovered a bamboo bridge, stumbled across it and collapsed at the nearest guesthouse. Unfortunately it was already full but the kindly landlady directed us to another cluster of bamboo huts nearby, where we agreed a price of 80,000 kip per night, which is a satifyingly cheap 7 quid between us. Nice!
Now the accommodation was basic - a bamboo room on stilts with a bed, mozzie net and small shower and toilet - but when the view is as amazing as the one we had it was an absolute steal. There was a hammock on our veranda, where you could kick back,relax and take in the stunning scenery - huge,steamy mountain ranges, lush green valleys, the Mekong river where cows and water buffalo were drinking and local children were playing on little wooden boats. It was one of the most idyllic scenes of th entire trip and we sat for a while drinking it all in, all too aware that in a few short weeks we'd be back in the ratrace of London life...
Shrugging off such depressing thoughts we explored the town, which took all of about 20 minutes. Vang Vieng is small, full of tourists (unfortunately, but as we are tourists too we are hardly in a position to complain) and is set up for fun, fun, fun...
We had a few refreshing beers (yep, I'm even drinking beer now like a real traveller) and bumped into Richard and Bongo for the umpteenth time. As everyone is doing a similar route it's not uncommon to come across the same faces in several different countries. We decided to make a plan for the next day - partaking of the local pastime...TUBING.
The next morning we had a full English to line our stomachs for the day ahead and joined the queue to go tubing. Although we'd seen various injured foreigners sheepishly hobbling around town the previous evening and blaming it all on the perilous tubing, we were undeterred and eagerly signed the disclaimer to say that yes, we could swim, and no, if one of us drowned/injured ourselves we wouldn't take legal action. We should have taken heed of the fact that the entire town looked like they should be on the set of casualty, such were the number of bandaged invalids. I did give Liam a knowing look as he happily signed away that yes he could swim and pointed out the lifejackets but he was full of male bravado and was having none of it. Little did we know what was to come...(cue ominous music)
For those of you not in the know, "tubing" involves floating down the Mekong river in a huge lorry tyre inner tube, being carried along by the current. The riverbanks are lined with myriad bars blaring out house music and have a general party atmosphere. The bar staff throw you a rope and pull you towards their bar, then when you are close enough they stick out a bamboo pole, you grab it, and they haul you into their bar.Genius! Cue lots of dancing, drinking, sliding down giant slides and swinging from zip lines. Brilliant fun, but with an air of danger - water, rocks, ropes and alcohol don't always mix so well...
We arrived, rubber rings in hand, and had a quick drink at the first bar for dutch courage before flinging ourselves into the murky water in our tubes. The water seemed relatively calm as we were carried gently upstream. I stopped worrying about Liam's lack of swimming skills as we had great fun being hauled from one bar to the next against a stunning backdrop of mountains and lush green forests,with all our favourite house tunes filling the air.
After several hours and several beers, we were happily dancing away at a bamboo bar on stilts above the river when I realised that all the tubes had gone.Had they been pinched by fellow travellers who'd swum to the bars then nabbed a tube without paying, or was it a cunning ploy by the tube owners so that people couldn't get their 7 quid deposits back? We'll never know...Noone seemed too bothered by this fact and insisted that we could easily swim or even wade to the next bar, which was only a few hundred metres away.
Bolstered by booze, we all agreed to wade through the shallow water to the next bar. As we climbed into the cold water, I was aware that the current here was much stronger, but we just lifted our feet and allowed the current to pull us along. There was quite a large group of us, and I was slightly ahead of Liam. Suddenly, the shallow water became really deep and my feet were swept from under me, forcing me to swim the rest of the way. Liam had been practising his swimming throughout the trip so I wasn't yet worried, but as I turned around I realised that Liam was in difficulty, thrashing about and going under the water. I quickly jumped back in, grabbed him and tried to keep his head above the surface whilst I was treading water. Unfortunately I never did finish my lifesaving certificate wearing PJ's in the school pool and found to my horror that I kept going under too, gulping huge mouthfuls of brown water. Catching sight of our friend Bongo I screamed at him to help me and luckily he quickly swam over and helped me drag Liam out. If is sounds dramatic, it was. Panting on the riverbank, we were all a little shaken, shocked at what had happened and how easily it could have turned to tragedy.
6 foot 4 Bongo had saved the day (with a little help from me, of course), and we were suddenly on some kind of adrenaline high at the realisation of the severity of what had just transpired. (We'd later find out that there are several drownings at this spot every year).
Relieved and charged up from our near-death experience, we all headed to the next bar to buy Bongo a celebratory beer, chinking bottles at our good fortune.....
Vientiane, Laos
I am ashamed to admit that before this trip I'd barely heard of Laos, even pronouncing it "Louse" when discussing our route with the travel agent. Yet I am now absolutely enthralled by the place and definitely plan to return in the future.
Laos (it's a silent "s" just in case you're as clueless as I was) is the most heavily bombed nation in the world (per capita). At least 2 million tonnes of ordnance was dropped on the country between 1964 and 1973 - during this time the USA dropped a planeload of bombs onto Laos every 10 minutes...for 9 long years. Around 30 per cent of this did not detonate, meaning there are still many deaths each year, along with the fact that the people are kept in poverty as they cannot use the land for fear of detonating such bombs.
Despite all of this, Laos is still one of the most beautiful countries in South East Asia, and one of my favourite countries of the trip, with breathtaking scenery and kind, friendly people.
I don't think we'd realised just how frenzied and grasping Vietnam had been until we arrived in Vientiane late evening, stepped off the bus, and were struck by the peace and tranquility of the city, the country's capital. Although Vientiane (meaning Sandalwood City) is the bustling capital of Laos, it still has only 450,000 inhabitants and is probably the most laid-back capital in Asia, more like a large village really.
We felt instantly more relaxed and at ease than we had done for the previous 15 days in Vietnam - whereas in Vietnam the locals think of a price, double it, multipy it by 6 then add 72, here in Laos business is a done in a more civilised, reasonable fashion. Don't get me wrong, you still have to haggle for everything from a banana to a tuk-tuk , but you don't feel completely violated after every teeny transaction.
It seems the rest of the travelling population were impressed by what Vientiane had to offer too, as we had to drive around to at least 6 guesthouses before we could find a room. Now I know how Mary and Joseph must have felt..all they wanted was a basic inn, and so did we but to no avail.Eventually we found a place for 18 dollars a night - not that cheap compared to elsewhere but we were so exhausted we'd have slept in a barn too at that point.After dinner and a few restorative cocktails with Dieter from our bus we perked up somewhat and slept like babies...
The next day we awoke and were almost shocked to discover that the room we'd finally accepted was tiny and had no windows - we'd been so shattered we'd barely noticed. Therefore, we dressed in shorts and a vest top (me, not Liam),not having seen outside, only to find that it was actually pretty chilly.
The weather improved as the day went on and we decided to treat ourselves to a luxury 2 hour massage (only 15 dollars each). I chose a herbal hot compress massage and Liam opted for the aromatherapy jobbie. When our tiny Laotian massage therapists led us into separate rooms and indicated for Liam only to take a shower I was beginning to smell a rat (or perhaps that was just her previous client)..."make sure there are no "happy endings" involved," I warned as I was led to my own bed and the door closed.
It turned out that Liam chose the best massage - gorgeously scented aromatherapy oils (and no funny business, I'm assured) , whilst mine involved red-hot muslin packs filled with herbs placed on various parts of my body. I attempted to endure the pain of these steaming sacks on my sensitive bod, gritting my teeth and telling myself it must be good for me as it seared into my sunburnt skin. When I was still covered in huge red burns the next day I wasn't so sure of the benefits...
The rest of our time in Vientiane was spent having lovely meals in quaint fairy-lit restaurants, meandering around musty antique shops and cute handicraft boutiques. I couldn't resist splashing out on an antique wooden carving of a rustic Buddha, even though I knew subconciously that what looks amazing in exotic Laos won't neccessarily look quite so well-placed in a 3 bed terrace in Romford..
We also walked along the Mekong river and took a tuk-tuk to a huge golden stupa (temple), marvelling at the great expense and meticulous detail lavished on these extravagant Buddhist places of worship found throughout South East Asia, so incongruous with the modest bamboo huts nearby.
Our next destination is Vang Vieng, home to a fun pastime known as TUBING....
Laos (it's a silent "s" just in case you're as clueless as I was) is the most heavily bombed nation in the world (per capita). At least 2 million tonnes of ordnance was dropped on the country between 1964 and 1973 - during this time the USA dropped a planeload of bombs onto Laos every 10 minutes...for 9 long years. Around 30 per cent of this did not detonate, meaning there are still many deaths each year, along with the fact that the people are kept in poverty as they cannot use the land for fear of detonating such bombs.
Despite all of this, Laos is still one of the most beautiful countries in South East Asia, and one of my favourite countries of the trip, with breathtaking scenery and kind, friendly people.
I don't think we'd realised just how frenzied and grasping Vietnam had been until we arrived in Vientiane late evening, stepped off the bus, and were struck by the peace and tranquility of the city, the country's capital. Although Vientiane (meaning Sandalwood City) is the bustling capital of Laos, it still has only 450,000 inhabitants and is probably the most laid-back capital in Asia, more like a large village really.
We felt instantly more relaxed and at ease than we had done for the previous 15 days in Vietnam - whereas in Vietnam the locals think of a price, double it, multipy it by 6 then add 72, here in Laos business is a done in a more civilised, reasonable fashion. Don't get me wrong, you still have to haggle for everything from a banana to a tuk-tuk , but you don't feel completely violated after every teeny transaction.
It seems the rest of the travelling population were impressed by what Vientiane had to offer too, as we had to drive around to at least 6 guesthouses before we could find a room. Now I know how Mary and Joseph must have felt..all they wanted was a basic inn, and so did we but to no avail.Eventually we found a place for 18 dollars a night - not that cheap compared to elsewhere but we were so exhausted we'd have slept in a barn too at that point.After dinner and a few restorative cocktails with Dieter from our bus we perked up somewhat and slept like babies...
The next day we awoke and were almost shocked to discover that the room we'd finally accepted was tiny and had no windows - we'd been so shattered we'd barely noticed. Therefore, we dressed in shorts and a vest top (me, not Liam),not having seen outside, only to find that it was actually pretty chilly.
The weather improved as the day went on and we decided to treat ourselves to a luxury 2 hour massage (only 15 dollars each). I chose a herbal hot compress massage and Liam opted for the aromatherapy jobbie. When our tiny Laotian massage therapists led us into separate rooms and indicated for Liam only to take a shower I was beginning to smell a rat (or perhaps that was just her previous client)..."make sure there are no "happy endings" involved," I warned as I was led to my own bed and the door closed.
It turned out that Liam chose the best massage - gorgeously scented aromatherapy oils (and no funny business, I'm assured) , whilst mine involved red-hot muslin packs filled with herbs placed on various parts of my body. I attempted to endure the pain of these steaming sacks on my sensitive bod, gritting my teeth and telling myself it must be good for me as it seared into my sunburnt skin. When I was still covered in huge red burns the next day I wasn't so sure of the benefits...
The rest of our time in Vientiane was spent having lovely meals in quaint fairy-lit restaurants, meandering around musty antique shops and cute handicraft boutiques. I couldn't resist splashing out on an antique wooden carving of a rustic Buddha, even though I knew subconciously that what looks amazing in exotic Laos won't neccessarily look quite so well-placed in a 3 bed terrace in Romford..
We also walked along the Mekong river and took a tuk-tuk to a huge golden stupa (temple), marvelling at the great expense and meticulous detail lavished on these extravagant Buddhist places of worship found throughout South East Asia, so incongruous with the modest bamboo huts nearby.
Our next destination is Vang Vieng, home to a fun pastime known as TUBING....
Thursday, 12 February 2009
The worst bus journey of the entire trip..Hanoi to Vientiane
I know, I know, I keep ranting on about painfully slow, sweaty bus journeys but this one takes the cake.
We bought our bus tickets from a respectable-looking outfit in Hanoi, although with hindsight it was inevitable that that pesky Vietnamese trait of ripping travellers off would come into play. We were told to meet at the tour office at 5pm, which we did. Then a guy on a motorbike pulls up and indicates that Liam and his 23 kilos of rucksack should climb on the back. We protested in vain to the driver grabbing Liam's luggage and balancing it between his legs precariously as he wobbled off into the rush-hour traffic, before returning to do the same with me, almost ripping my legs off as he zipped between cars with my legs bent at right angles like a frogs'.
He took us back to where we'd just taken a taxi to only a few minutes earlier, saying that the bus would pick us up from here now. Other travellers gathered. We were then told we should all walk to a different meeting point. We did. We waited and waited, before being bundled (all 8 of us!!) into a taxi and told he'd take us to the bus station. 2 hours had passed and we still hadn't even boarded the bus, although we had bonded with our fellow travellers. (We didn't have much choice, seeing as our sweat was being exchanged with the person next to us in the taxi, and we were clinging onto to random people's boots and carrier bags of dirty laundry.)
By 7pm we were finally being ushered onto a rundown old bus that had seen better days. Hell, this thing had seen better centuries.
The trouble began when we weren't allowed to sit in our allocated seats by the Vietnamese "conductor", we'll call her. (Although Liam also called several other names too during the course of the journey.)
She told us in harsh pigeon English that foreigners must sit at the back. We were by now quite friendly with Dieter, a South African traveller, and a French couple whose names escape me, so we all protested loudly. Noone wants the back seats as they are the bumpiest, hottest seats on the bus (the engine is at the back), and also the seats don't recline. We were completely ignored. We were all seething with the unfairness of the situation - the journey was 28hours long, we'd paid upto 10 times more than the locals for our tickets, plus we'd been shunted from pillar to post for the last 2 hours and were still the first to arrive on the bus, yet we were told we couldn't sit in the prebooked seats. This is what we'd come to expect from the north Vietnamese, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow.
The bus filled up. And up. And up, until there were 55 people on a hot and sweaty 42- seater. There werer people on the floor in the aisle, people 3 to a seat, I reckon I might have even spotted a few climbing into the overhead parcel shelf. A couple of motorbikes were also heaved aboard. The bus was groaning under the weight and effort, travelling at a snail's pace. The driver and most of the passengers spat out of the window constantly and chugged on cigarettes and ominous-smelling pipes (opium?), sending stinking, acrid blus smoke down the back of the bus, and in our faces.
We stopped continously to pick up yet more passengers and luggage, we even stopped at the evil conductor woman's relatives house, where she disappeared inside them sat out on the veranda drinking from a bowl with them and chatting whilst 50-odd faces watched from the bus impatiently. We stopped at a ramshackle restaurant for dinner, where yet again us Westerners got ignored and went hungry. Liam seethed. We all did.
Hungry, we clambered back on board, getting thrown around until 2am, when we stopped to pick up a few more locals, these ones paralytic. Just when we thought the journey couldn't get much more unpleasant, there came a whooshing sound - one of the pisshead locals had just projectile vomited next to us, sending a gush of noodle-filled spew all over the French girl in front of me. It was so hot on the bus and the stench was unbearable. The poor French girl had to stick her head out of the window like a dog and gulp air frantically to avoid blowing chunks herself. After being sick, the guy seemed to feel much better and sparked up a fag. We were grateful we hadn't had dinner after all...
We finally arrived a the Laos border at 6am, where we had to wait 2 hours for the officials to open the border and organise our visas. When the offices did finally open it was like a feeding frenzy of piranhas as everyone attempted to get to the front first. These people don't understand the concept of queuing, so us travellers did the same, pushing them right back. We had the added advantage of being 3 foot taller so managed to beat them at their own game...
Back on the bus, more bumping, sweating, gritting teeth, then...disaster! (Another one). The bus broke down. We'd been aware of ominous metal-on-metal grinding noises, and had had to get out and push a few times due to the starter motor failing, but this felt much more serious. We'd already heard a few horror stories from other travellers about brakes failing on mountains and drivers having to crash the bus into the side of the cliff to stop it. Or occasions when drivers had had to maintain a certain velocity.I had visions of Keanu Reeves in Speed, yet the Vietnamese didn't bat and eyelid as the driver stopped the bus, grabbed a few spanners and made his way to the back of the bus, flipped open the hatch where we were sitting and began tinkering away.
Liam attempted to flex his mechanical skills but the communication barrier proved too much. If only Vietnamese had been part of the syllabus on Liam's mechanics college course.
After 3 hours at the side of the road in blistering heat in the middle of nowhere, me, Liam, and our fellow Westerners (5 of us), began hatching a cunning plan to ditch the Vietnamese and their shack of a bus and get the hell out of dodge. As Liam was a valuable asset to them, we knew they'd be reluctant to let us do the off, but it was every man for himself, and besides, they'd treated us like doggy doo for the last 20-odd hours.
We surreptitiously unloaded our bags from the bus round the opposite side to where the passengers were sitting on the grassy verge, and catching sight of another bus approaching in the distance, steeled ourselves to persuade it to stop. The first bus sailed past (apparently almost every bus breaks down in Laos so it was hardly likely to offer help), but then another approached a while later and the sick-covered, desperate, French girl ran out into the road and the driver took pity and screeched to a halt. We begged them to let us climb aboard, agreed an overpriced fee, and laughed as we left the open-mouthed Vietnamese to eat our dust as we sped off into the sunset.
We had to sit in the aisle on tiny plastic stools for the rest of the way (6 hours?), but we didn't care cos we were so grateful to finally be on our way.
We eventually arrived in Vientiane, filthy, starving and tired almost 30 hours after we'd left Vietnam.
Luckily for us, our first impressions of Laos were excellent - relaxed, beautiful, with smiling, welcoming locals. The journey then seemed almost surreal as we reflected with our new mate Dieter, (the guy from Cape Town) as we relaxed over a well-earned dinner (our first meal in 36hrs) and several illuminous cocktails....
We bought our bus tickets from a respectable-looking outfit in Hanoi, although with hindsight it was inevitable that that pesky Vietnamese trait of ripping travellers off would come into play. We were told to meet at the tour office at 5pm, which we did. Then a guy on a motorbike pulls up and indicates that Liam and his 23 kilos of rucksack should climb on the back. We protested in vain to the driver grabbing Liam's luggage and balancing it between his legs precariously as he wobbled off into the rush-hour traffic, before returning to do the same with me, almost ripping my legs off as he zipped between cars with my legs bent at right angles like a frogs'.
He took us back to where we'd just taken a taxi to only a few minutes earlier, saying that the bus would pick us up from here now. Other travellers gathered. We were then told we should all walk to a different meeting point. We did. We waited and waited, before being bundled (all 8 of us!!) into a taxi and told he'd take us to the bus station. 2 hours had passed and we still hadn't even boarded the bus, although we had bonded with our fellow travellers. (We didn't have much choice, seeing as our sweat was being exchanged with the person next to us in the taxi, and we were clinging onto to random people's boots and carrier bags of dirty laundry.)
By 7pm we were finally being ushered onto a rundown old bus that had seen better days. Hell, this thing had seen better centuries.
The trouble began when we weren't allowed to sit in our allocated seats by the Vietnamese "conductor", we'll call her. (Although Liam also called several other names too during the course of the journey.)
She told us in harsh pigeon English that foreigners must sit at the back. We were by now quite friendly with Dieter, a South African traveller, and a French couple whose names escape me, so we all protested loudly. Noone wants the back seats as they are the bumpiest, hottest seats on the bus (the engine is at the back), and also the seats don't recline. We were completely ignored. We were all seething with the unfairness of the situation - the journey was 28hours long, we'd paid upto 10 times more than the locals for our tickets, plus we'd been shunted from pillar to post for the last 2 hours and were still the first to arrive on the bus, yet we were told we couldn't sit in the prebooked seats. This is what we'd come to expect from the north Vietnamese, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow.
The bus filled up. And up. And up, until there were 55 people on a hot and sweaty 42- seater. There werer people on the floor in the aisle, people 3 to a seat, I reckon I might have even spotted a few climbing into the overhead parcel shelf. A couple of motorbikes were also heaved aboard. The bus was groaning under the weight and effort, travelling at a snail's pace. The driver and most of the passengers spat out of the window constantly and chugged on cigarettes and ominous-smelling pipes (opium?), sending stinking, acrid blus smoke down the back of the bus, and in our faces.
We stopped continously to pick up yet more passengers and luggage, we even stopped at the evil conductor woman's relatives house, where she disappeared inside them sat out on the veranda drinking from a bowl with them and chatting whilst 50-odd faces watched from the bus impatiently. We stopped at a ramshackle restaurant for dinner, where yet again us Westerners got ignored and went hungry. Liam seethed. We all did.
Hungry, we clambered back on board, getting thrown around until 2am, when we stopped to pick up a few more locals, these ones paralytic. Just when we thought the journey couldn't get much more unpleasant, there came a whooshing sound - one of the pisshead locals had just projectile vomited next to us, sending a gush of noodle-filled spew all over the French girl in front of me. It was so hot on the bus and the stench was unbearable. The poor French girl had to stick her head out of the window like a dog and gulp air frantically to avoid blowing chunks herself. After being sick, the guy seemed to feel much better and sparked up a fag. We were grateful we hadn't had dinner after all...
We finally arrived a the Laos border at 6am, where we had to wait 2 hours for the officials to open the border and organise our visas. When the offices did finally open it was like a feeding frenzy of piranhas as everyone attempted to get to the front first. These people don't understand the concept of queuing, so us travellers did the same, pushing them right back. We had the added advantage of being 3 foot taller so managed to beat them at their own game...
Back on the bus, more bumping, sweating, gritting teeth, then...disaster! (Another one). The bus broke down. We'd been aware of ominous metal-on-metal grinding noises, and had had to get out and push a few times due to the starter motor failing, but this felt much more serious. We'd already heard a few horror stories from other travellers about brakes failing on mountains and drivers having to crash the bus into the side of the cliff to stop it. Or occasions when drivers had had to maintain a certain velocity.I had visions of Keanu Reeves in Speed, yet the Vietnamese didn't bat and eyelid as the driver stopped the bus, grabbed a few spanners and made his way to the back of the bus, flipped open the hatch where we were sitting and began tinkering away.
Liam attempted to flex his mechanical skills but the communication barrier proved too much. If only Vietnamese had been part of the syllabus on Liam's mechanics college course.
After 3 hours at the side of the road in blistering heat in the middle of nowhere, me, Liam, and our fellow Westerners (5 of us), began hatching a cunning plan to ditch the Vietnamese and their shack of a bus and get the hell out of dodge. As Liam was a valuable asset to them, we knew they'd be reluctant to let us do the off, but it was every man for himself, and besides, they'd treated us like doggy doo for the last 20-odd hours.
We surreptitiously unloaded our bags from the bus round the opposite side to where the passengers were sitting on the grassy verge, and catching sight of another bus approaching in the distance, steeled ourselves to persuade it to stop. The first bus sailed past (apparently almost every bus breaks down in Laos so it was hardly likely to offer help), but then another approached a while later and the sick-covered, desperate, French girl ran out into the road and the driver took pity and screeched to a halt. We begged them to let us climb aboard, agreed an overpriced fee, and laughed as we left the open-mouthed Vietnamese to eat our dust as we sped off into the sunset.
We had to sit in the aisle on tiny plastic stools for the rest of the way (6 hours?), but we didn't care cos we were so grateful to finally be on our way.
We eventually arrived in Vientiane, filthy, starving and tired almost 30 hours after we'd left Vietnam.
Luckily for us, our first impressions of Laos were excellent - relaxed, beautiful, with smiling, welcoming locals. The journey then seemed almost surreal as we reflected with our new mate Dieter, (the guy from Cape Town) as we relaxed over a well-earned dinner (our first meal in 36hrs) and several illuminous cocktails....
Saturday, 7 February 2009
How Hanoi-ing
We left our dank, pube-filled hostel with strict orders that they change the sheets before we returned. They nodded solemnly, but as Liam went up to the room to collect something he'd forgotten he caught them just brushing off the same sheets. "No! Change them!", he ordered.
Hanoi is similar to Saigon in terms of traffic flow - motorbikes dodging and weaving, women wearing conical hats and carrying baskets attached to wooden poles, moto drivers trying to grab you onto the back of their bike every few yards.The sound of a thousand horns fills the air as everyone beep beeps constantly. It's like a scene from wacky races - motorbikes carrying all sorts of bizare cargo..a wardrobe here, family of six there. (If only I was as glamorous as Penelope Pitstop as I clung for dear life to my drivers lovehandles). The shops are perhaps a bit more sophisticated than those elsewhere in the country, I noticed, as we whizzed past in our grossly overpriced cyclo(pushbike with a carriage on the front), making a mental note of the location of a few I wanted to check out later.
After a lunch of that famous Vietnamese dish, pizza, we felt energised enough to take in some sights. We were staying in the Old Quarter near to the Hoan Kiem lake, so decided to check out the Ngon Soc temple in the middle of the lake, which is home to a giant embalmed turtle, found in the lake and symbolic of a 15th century legend in which a giant turtle came out of the lake and grabbed Emperor Ly Thai To's sword that he'd used to drive the Chinese out of Vietnam. Sounds like a romantic little tale but the reality was that it was a huge ugly-looking thing, all beady eyes and wrinkled skin. People were queuing up to pose alongside it...I shudder to think what those snaps will look like on the mantelpiece.
Getting into the concept of gawking at long-dead, embalmed things, we decided to drop in at Ho Chi Minh's place - a glass-topped mausoleum where you can see the embalmed corpse of the famous president.
It's open to the public most of the time, except for a 3-month period each year when he goes on vacation to Russia for a little "maintenance", or a "tidy up", as Liam called it. We clearly underestimated the number of people with the same morbid fascination with pickled presidents as us, rounding the corner to a huge snake of noisy tourists. The guards barked at everyone for silence, even snarling at Liam to remove his hands from his pockets. We weren't even anywhere near entering the masoleum complex yet. Communist propaganda posters were everywhere and I found the kermit-coloured uniforms of the imposing guards quite intimidating. (Well, the guards were as scary as they could be while dressed up in muppet colours. Miss Piggy would've been in her element with this lot.)
The crowd maintained a faux-serious expression as instructed by the guards as we were allowed to silently pass by the sarcophagus in single file, each trying not to stare TOO intently as they looked at the dead guy. As if they see dead presidents all the time. I must say, the soviets had done a good job of preserving the revered leader - he looked younger than the 79 years old that he'd been when he died, his beard was groomed, he was wearing military uniform and looked as though he were just taking a quick nap, albeit a stiff one.I've seen celebrities who look less alive, and all they've had done is a little botox - this guy's been dead for over 30 years.Although we did find it surprising that he'd been enbalmed in the first place, since it'd been his express wish to be cremated on death, and he was so well respected in North Vietnam that you'd have thought they have respected Uncle Ho's (as they affectionately called him) wishes.
We discussed this over lunch - staring at corpses hadn't dampened our appetites, (more's the pity in my case) before heading to the Hoa Lo Prison, as you do. We seem to have a thing about visiting prisons on this trip, having already tramped around at least 3 others...
This prison was nicknamed the "Hanoi Hilton" by US POW's during the Vietnam War (or the American War, as it's called throughtout SE Asia), although it was originally built by the French to imprison Vietnamese who resisted their occupation. Famous prisoners during the war include Senator John McCain, who cannot raise his arms above his head following his torture and he tried to commit suicide twice whilst imprisoned here. (Having seen what America did to Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos during this war, it was pretty hard for us to feel sorry for the Americans though).
The other main thing we did in Hanoi was to visit the Municipal Water Puppet Theatre, which was bright and colourful and entertaining despite the fact we couldn't understand a word of the story.
We had fun in Hanoi, but this was in spite of the treatment we received from the locals, rather than because of it. Most of them looked at us as though we were something they'd trodden in, or tried to pressure us into buying some substandard whatever with all the subtlety of a hungry rottweiler. And with just about the same amount of saliva coming out of their mouths too. These people can spit like it's an olympic sport. They were nowhere NEAR as friendly as their southern counterparts, which I might be able to explain away if I were better at politics and history. If we were queuing for something, for example, the locals would push us out of the way to get in front of us, and whoever was serving would ignore us. Sometimes, when going on bus journeys and the bus would have a 30minute stopver at a local restaurant, we'd be completely ignored, eventually our order would be taken, thewn our food wouldn't turn up and the driver would be honking away, indicating that we had to leave without eating. this happened 3 times in Vietnam, whilst the locals chomped away smugly. I stayed quiet, safe in the knowledge that I'd probably have got sick from the manky knuckles and kneecaps they were sucking on anyway.
By the time we were due to travel onto Laos we were more than ready for the 28hr bus ride...or were we.....
Hanoi is similar to Saigon in terms of traffic flow - motorbikes dodging and weaving, women wearing conical hats and carrying baskets attached to wooden poles, moto drivers trying to grab you onto the back of their bike every few yards.The sound of a thousand horns fills the air as everyone beep beeps constantly. It's like a scene from wacky races - motorbikes carrying all sorts of bizare cargo..a wardrobe here, family of six there. (If only I was as glamorous as Penelope Pitstop as I clung for dear life to my drivers lovehandles). The shops are perhaps a bit more sophisticated than those elsewhere in the country, I noticed, as we whizzed past in our grossly overpriced cyclo(pushbike with a carriage on the front), making a mental note of the location of a few I wanted to check out later.
After a lunch of that famous Vietnamese dish, pizza, we felt energised enough to take in some sights. We were staying in the Old Quarter near to the Hoan Kiem lake, so decided to check out the Ngon Soc temple in the middle of the lake, which is home to a giant embalmed turtle, found in the lake and symbolic of a 15th century legend in which a giant turtle came out of the lake and grabbed Emperor Ly Thai To's sword that he'd used to drive the Chinese out of Vietnam. Sounds like a romantic little tale but the reality was that it was a huge ugly-looking thing, all beady eyes and wrinkled skin. People were queuing up to pose alongside it...I shudder to think what those snaps will look like on the mantelpiece.
Getting into the concept of gawking at long-dead, embalmed things, we decided to drop in at Ho Chi Minh's place - a glass-topped mausoleum where you can see the embalmed corpse of the famous president.
It's open to the public most of the time, except for a 3-month period each year when he goes on vacation to Russia for a little "maintenance", or a "tidy up", as Liam called it. We clearly underestimated the number of people with the same morbid fascination with pickled presidents as us, rounding the corner to a huge snake of noisy tourists. The guards barked at everyone for silence, even snarling at Liam to remove his hands from his pockets. We weren't even anywhere near entering the masoleum complex yet. Communist propaganda posters were everywhere and I found the kermit-coloured uniforms of the imposing guards quite intimidating. (Well, the guards were as scary as they could be while dressed up in muppet colours. Miss Piggy would've been in her element with this lot.)
The crowd maintained a faux-serious expression as instructed by the guards as we were allowed to silently pass by the sarcophagus in single file, each trying not to stare TOO intently as they looked at the dead guy. As if they see dead presidents all the time. I must say, the soviets had done a good job of preserving the revered leader - he looked younger than the 79 years old that he'd been when he died, his beard was groomed, he was wearing military uniform and looked as though he were just taking a quick nap, albeit a stiff one.I've seen celebrities who look less alive, and all they've had done is a little botox - this guy's been dead for over 30 years.Although we did find it surprising that he'd been enbalmed in the first place, since it'd been his express wish to be cremated on death, and he was so well respected in North Vietnam that you'd have thought they have respected Uncle Ho's (as they affectionately called him) wishes.
We discussed this over lunch - staring at corpses hadn't dampened our appetites, (more's the pity in my case) before heading to the Hoa Lo Prison, as you do. We seem to have a thing about visiting prisons on this trip, having already tramped around at least 3 others...
This prison was nicknamed the "Hanoi Hilton" by US POW's during the Vietnam War (or the American War, as it's called throughtout SE Asia), although it was originally built by the French to imprison Vietnamese who resisted their occupation. Famous prisoners during the war include Senator John McCain, who cannot raise his arms above his head following his torture and he tried to commit suicide twice whilst imprisoned here. (Having seen what America did to Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos during this war, it was pretty hard for us to feel sorry for the Americans though).
The other main thing we did in Hanoi was to visit the Municipal Water Puppet Theatre, which was bright and colourful and entertaining despite the fact we couldn't understand a word of the story.
We had fun in Hanoi, but this was in spite of the treatment we received from the locals, rather than because of it. Most of them looked at us as though we were something they'd trodden in, or tried to pressure us into buying some substandard whatever with all the subtlety of a hungry rottweiler. And with just about the same amount of saliva coming out of their mouths too. These people can spit like it's an olympic sport. They were nowhere NEAR as friendly as their southern counterparts, which I might be able to explain away if I were better at politics and history. If we were queuing for something, for example, the locals would push us out of the way to get in front of us, and whoever was serving would ignore us. Sometimes, when going on bus journeys and the bus would have a 30minute stopver at a local restaurant, we'd be completely ignored, eventually our order would be taken, thewn our food wouldn't turn up and the driver would be honking away, indicating that we had to leave without eating. this happened 3 times in Vietnam, whilst the locals chomped away smugly. I stayed quiet, safe in the knowledge that I'd probably have got sick from the manky knuckles and kneecaps they were sucking on anyway.
By the time we were due to travel onto Laos we were more than ready for the 28hr bus ride...or were we.....
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
Han...oi -look out! Another road accident....
The people of Vietnam are generally a friendly and kind lot, although we have noticed a slightly cooler reception as well as temperature as we've gone further north. Some areas have been downright frosty in fact. Take for example the chaotic arrangements for the journey from Hue to Hanoi. We'd been told to be at the bus stop at 5pm. Determined to get the good seats at the back with extra legroom, we arrived at 4.30pm. After a huge kerfuffle it emerged that we'd been told the wrong stop so we had to hurry to another collection point. I was near the front of the queue, yet the bus driver told us and a group of Aussies that as were were foreigners we must get to the back of the queue. "Vietnamese take priority over tourists," he said haughtily, spitting out the word "tourists". Seeing as we'd been waiting the longest and had paid 3 times the local rate for our tickets, we all though this unfair, and said so. He shouted abuse at us and ushered the locals on, refusing to allow us on the bus. Can you imagine what would happen if we did the same in London? There'd be uproar, and rightly so.
Eventually when all the Vietnamese were settled in their beds on the bus, he reluctantly allowed us to climb aboard. Luckily for us, the locals didn't want the extra legroom seats seeing as their legs swing on the seats anyway, barely touching the floor.
The bus stopped at a roadside eaterie after a few hours, and everone piled off to get some dinner. After waiting for a while for our noodles with vegetables it became apparent that the greedy old French couple sitting next to us had gobbled down the wrong meal...ours.I wouldn't mind, but they'd ordered beef and rice, and had tucked into our...noodles with veg. Hardly an honest mistake. The waiter didn't apologise and said we'd have to wait..again."A hungry man is an angry man, " seethed Liam as we climbed back on the bus hungry, having not received our meals in time for the bus leaving. In the whole time we've been travelling we've probably got EXACTLY what we ordered about...10 times. Usually, there's some discrepancy. Sometimes I reckon the chef takes a look at our order and thinks "I can't be arsed to cook that, I'll just give them this and hope they don't complain."
15 hours later we arrived in Hanoi. It was 6am, pitch black and pouring with rain. Wearing flip-flops and t-shirts, we slip-slided around on the muddy grass verge where the bus dropped us off and attempted to work out where we had to go using the lifesaving Lonely Planet guide. About 10 taxi drivers clambered for our business, shouting in our faces and trying to steer us towards their old bangers. Usually, we try to arrange the hostel to pick us up from the bus stop to avoid being ripped-off but the place we'd booked didn't offer this service.
Finally we agreed a reasonable price with the least dodgy-looking cabbie and slid into ther back seats, grateful to escape the rain. We'd only been in the car a few minutes when BANG!!! we'd hit a motorbike and it's 2 passengers. This was our second road accident in as many weeks, and the 5th one we'd witnessed since Cambodia. I sprung out of the vehicle to see what had happened...
The passenger was dazed and slumped on the floor alongside the car, but soon managed to get to his feet. But where was the driver?? I looked around and to my amazement she'd skidded all the way across the main road and was now lying under the bike on the pavement on the other side of the wide road. Luckily, as it was raining they were wearing lots of layers and there was little traffic at this time of the morning. A few hours later and it would've been a different story. They're a tough old lot, the Vietnamese, and once she'd got over the initial shock of flying through the air she leapt up and started shouting abuse at our driver. Liam signalled to me to get out, and popping open the boot we grabbed our rucksacks and made our way to the side of the road where a small crowd had gathered. Seeing as we're becoming experts in crash scene protocol, we knew the police wouldn't even bother talking to us so figured there was little point in hanging around. The crowd grew bigger as early morning exercise fanatics rubber-necked to see what all the commotion was about. We were more interested in the makeshift aerobics class taking place around the lake. Apparently it's part of Hanoi life that people gather early in the morning to do aerobics around the city to huge sound systems blaring out dance music. Individuals and small groups were solemnly working out with no teacher, all scattered around the city streets, yet they were all doing the same moves. Very weird. It was like something out of a Fatboy Slim video. Old grannies were doing push-ups against a bench and a little old man was rotating his hips. I wished I'd had my camera handy to video it, it was pure comedy gold.
Our laughter didn't last long. Starving from lack of dinner the previous night, tired from the journey, shaken up from the car accident, and struggling to find our hostel in the rain, we agreed that this was a definite low point. After walking around for alomst an hour, Liam finally located it in a tiny backstreet. We walked gingerly up ther front steps, covered in mud and dripping water all over the tiled floor.
The hostel had only cost 4 quid each per night, and upon entering our room we realised why. The room was damper than us, with paint peeling from the walls and a huge brown damp patch on the ceiling. The shower and sink leaked all over the floor. We had a shower, dried with threadbare towels ("we'll probably get impetigo from these") and I went to climb into the bed to warm up, just as Liam pointed out that the sheets were covered in pubes. For God's sake. I climbed wearily out again and we set off to explore Hanoi...
Eventually when all the Vietnamese were settled in their beds on the bus, he reluctantly allowed us to climb aboard. Luckily for us, the locals didn't want the extra legroom seats seeing as their legs swing on the seats anyway, barely touching the floor.
The bus stopped at a roadside eaterie after a few hours, and everone piled off to get some dinner. After waiting for a while for our noodles with vegetables it became apparent that the greedy old French couple sitting next to us had gobbled down the wrong meal...ours.I wouldn't mind, but they'd ordered beef and rice, and had tucked into our...noodles with veg. Hardly an honest mistake. The waiter didn't apologise and said we'd have to wait..again."A hungry man is an angry man, " seethed Liam as we climbed back on the bus hungry, having not received our meals in time for the bus leaving. In the whole time we've been travelling we've probably got EXACTLY what we ordered about...10 times. Usually, there's some discrepancy. Sometimes I reckon the chef takes a look at our order and thinks "I can't be arsed to cook that, I'll just give them this and hope they don't complain."
15 hours later we arrived in Hanoi. It was 6am, pitch black and pouring with rain. Wearing flip-flops and t-shirts, we slip-slided around on the muddy grass verge where the bus dropped us off and attempted to work out where we had to go using the lifesaving Lonely Planet guide. About 10 taxi drivers clambered for our business, shouting in our faces and trying to steer us towards their old bangers. Usually, we try to arrange the hostel to pick us up from the bus stop to avoid being ripped-off but the place we'd booked didn't offer this service.
Finally we agreed a reasonable price with the least dodgy-looking cabbie and slid into ther back seats, grateful to escape the rain. We'd only been in the car a few minutes when BANG!!! we'd hit a motorbike and it's 2 passengers. This was our second road accident in as many weeks, and the 5th one we'd witnessed since Cambodia. I sprung out of the vehicle to see what had happened...
The passenger was dazed and slumped on the floor alongside the car, but soon managed to get to his feet. But where was the driver?? I looked around and to my amazement she'd skidded all the way across the main road and was now lying under the bike on the pavement on the other side of the wide road. Luckily, as it was raining they were wearing lots of layers and there was little traffic at this time of the morning. A few hours later and it would've been a different story. They're a tough old lot, the Vietnamese, and once she'd got over the initial shock of flying through the air she leapt up and started shouting abuse at our driver. Liam signalled to me to get out, and popping open the boot we grabbed our rucksacks and made our way to the side of the road where a small crowd had gathered. Seeing as we're becoming experts in crash scene protocol, we knew the police wouldn't even bother talking to us so figured there was little point in hanging around. The crowd grew bigger as early morning exercise fanatics rubber-necked to see what all the commotion was about. We were more interested in the makeshift aerobics class taking place around the lake. Apparently it's part of Hanoi life that people gather early in the morning to do aerobics around the city to huge sound systems blaring out dance music. Individuals and small groups were solemnly working out with no teacher, all scattered around the city streets, yet they were all doing the same moves. Very weird. It was like something out of a Fatboy Slim video. Old grannies were doing push-ups against a bench and a little old man was rotating his hips. I wished I'd had my camera handy to video it, it was pure comedy gold.
Our laughter didn't last long. Starving from lack of dinner the previous night, tired from the journey, shaken up from the car accident, and struggling to find our hostel in the rain, we agreed that this was a definite low point. After walking around for alomst an hour, Liam finally located it in a tiny backstreet. We walked gingerly up ther front steps, covered in mud and dripping water all over the tiled floor.
The hostel had only cost 4 quid each per night, and upon entering our room we realised why. The room was damper than us, with paint peeling from the walls and a huge brown damp patch on the ceiling. The shower and sink leaked all over the floor. We had a shower, dried with threadbare towels ("we'll probably get impetigo from these") and I went to climb into the bed to warm up, just as Liam pointed out that the sheets were covered in pubes. For God's sake. I climbed wearily out again and we set off to explore Hanoi...
Hue's the daddy
Hue is the daddy of Vietnam's cultural and religious centres, and is the home to the royal tombs of the Nguyen Dynasty,plus an array of pagodas and a grand, crumbling Citadel. We arrived here after a mere 5hrs by bus,during which we sat directly behind the chain-smoking driver who stuck his head out of the window every 30 seconds to spit phlegm down the side of the bus. I buried my head in my book and tried to control my gag reflex.
We were staying in the run-down "Sports Hotel". This place couldn't have looked less sporty if it tried. When the rest of the class was running cross-country, this old place was hiding behind the bikesheds, having a fag. With peeling paint and filthy bathtub, it looked nothing like the picture on the flyer.
We wandered around town and visited the citadel.That night, we met up with the Northern lads Richard and Bongo who we'd bumped into at various intervals around South East Asia. We had arranged to go to the "Why Not?" Bar in the centre of town. ("Why not?" "Because it's empty, that's why not, " we quipped half-heartedly as we sat waiting for them, peeling the labels from our local beer).It was 10pm on a Saturday night and the place was like a ghost town.The boys were happy though, as there was a pool table and English football was blaring on the TV inside.
The next morning we hired a couple of moto's (motorbike taxis) and gave the drivers a few hundred thousand Dong to take us to all the major attractions.Liam did the deal on the price,subtly covering his nose to avoid inhaling the fish sauce breath coming from between the driver's rotting stumps that once called themselves teeth.It was quite exhilarating experience, clinging to the back of the bike as he took the bends at 45 degree angles and bouncing me high into the air as we hit rocks. I attempted to keep the little kid-sized crash helmet perched atop my big western head, whooping with delight as I was thrown off my seat. At least I couldn't smell his breath at this speed.
We visited various multi-tiered pagodas, the majestic old tomb of Emperor tu Duc, the tomb of Minh Mang and several temples, surrounded by the biggest Bonsai trees I'd ever seen. The temples were set next to a stunning lake with pine trees lining the banks. Hue was one of the most heavily-bombed sites during the Vietnam war, and our drivers took us to a viewpoint overlooking the river. They did explain the relevance of this detour but we couldn't understand a word they said. It was pretty anyway.They seemed to be speaking Vietnamese, with an English word thrown in every other sentence. We asked them questions but they stared at us blankly. Speaking louder didn't help. In the end we all took to nodding and smiling, neither party knowing what on earth was being said. I could have insulted their mothers and they'd have just beamed at me. We returned to our hotel in the afternoon, wind-swept and dusty from the bike-ride. There was just time for an Italian meal and a quick explore of the local shops before continuing up the coast to Hanoi for our final stopoff in Vietnam...
We were staying in the run-down "Sports Hotel". This place couldn't have looked less sporty if it tried. When the rest of the class was running cross-country, this old place was hiding behind the bikesheds, having a fag. With peeling paint and filthy bathtub, it looked nothing like the picture on the flyer.
We wandered around town and visited the citadel.That night, we met up with the Northern lads Richard and Bongo who we'd bumped into at various intervals around South East Asia. We had arranged to go to the "Why Not?" Bar in the centre of town. ("Why not?" "Because it's empty, that's why not, " we quipped half-heartedly as we sat waiting for them, peeling the labels from our local beer).It was 10pm on a Saturday night and the place was like a ghost town.The boys were happy though, as there was a pool table and English football was blaring on the TV inside.
The next morning we hired a couple of moto's (motorbike taxis) and gave the drivers a few hundred thousand Dong to take us to all the major attractions.Liam did the deal on the price,subtly covering his nose to avoid inhaling the fish sauce breath coming from between the driver's rotting stumps that once called themselves teeth.It was quite exhilarating experience, clinging to the back of the bike as he took the bends at 45 degree angles and bouncing me high into the air as we hit rocks. I attempted to keep the little kid-sized crash helmet perched atop my big western head, whooping with delight as I was thrown off my seat. At least I couldn't smell his breath at this speed.
We visited various multi-tiered pagodas, the majestic old tomb of Emperor tu Duc, the tomb of Minh Mang and several temples, surrounded by the biggest Bonsai trees I'd ever seen. The temples were set next to a stunning lake with pine trees lining the banks. Hue was one of the most heavily-bombed sites during the Vietnam war, and our drivers took us to a viewpoint overlooking the river. They did explain the relevance of this detour but we couldn't understand a word they said. It was pretty anyway.They seemed to be speaking Vietnamese, with an English word thrown in every other sentence. We asked them questions but they stared at us blankly. Speaking louder didn't help. In the end we all took to nodding and smiling, neither party knowing what on earth was being said. I could have insulted their mothers and they'd have just beamed at me. We returned to our hotel in the afternoon, wind-swept and dusty from the bike-ride. There was just time for an Italian meal and a quick explore of the local shops before continuing up the coast to Hanoi for our final stopoff in Vietnam...
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