Hoi An and Saigon and The Mekong Delta, Oh My

(This blog is way too long.  We’ve been lazy.  You don’t have to read the whole thing.  Sorry in advance.)

Over dinner in Buenos Aires, our Argentine friends, Caro and Kike, told us that Saigon “es una locura”.  After eliminating all destinations between Hoi An and the Mekong Delta, we decided to book a flight there and see for ourselves.  And they were right, “una locura tan loca”.

We arrived in Saigon after four days in Hoi An.  We enjoyed Hoi An for the most part, and did some really nice biking through the countryside and hanging on the lovely beach.  And while we did not partake in the hugely popular draw of custom-tailored clothing, we found an equally satisfying way to pass time – what I mean to say is that we basically ate our way through town.  There was “The End of the World” mentioned in the last blog entry which was amazing and which we hit up one other time for lunch.  But we also discovered a typical dish from the area called “White Rose” which are delicate, steamed rice dumplings stuffed with shrimp and served with a sweet vinegar dipping sauce.  Gabe even partook and got no allergic reaction whatsoever, so we proceeded to order them at every meal except breakfast, sometimes, double orders.  We ate them from the street vendors, from the fancy shmancy restaurants, from the hole-in-the-wall restaurants, wherever we could get our hands on them.

We also met up with our NBF’s Laura and Tolo – our honeymooning Spanish train companions from Hanoi to Hoi An – and another honeymooning couple from Barcelona whom they had met on their flight to Saigon, for a superb evening of Spanish speaking, great food, great stories, and lots of laughter.   We started with the full moon rise over the river, followed by drinks beside the river, and then an uber delicious dinner at Ms. Ly’s restaurant.

Overall we found Hoi An to be pleasing both aesthetically and gastronomically, but the amount of tourists and the constant bombardment by street sellers that seems to accompany tourism in the more well-known parts of Vietnam was enough that we wanted to move on.  Plus, aside from the price and cleanliness, our hotel sucked.  After receiving tips from the other Spaniards about what lay between Hoi An and Saigon, we decided to skip it all and head South to the Mekong Delta, via Saigon.

And as Caro and Kike alluded to, Saigon is completely crazy.  Like, totally.  The motorbike situation is similar to Hanoi (if you missed the installment on navigating the streets of Hanoi, check out the June 8th entry), except that there are usable sidewalks (it’s just that the motor bikes use them too and they somehow have right of way – you get honked at ON the sidewalk!) and the streets are 10 times wider than in Hanoi so the amount of time spent dodging all types of motorized vehicles that are accelerating in your direction is exponentially greater – as is your risk of death.  We saw at least one motorbike accident per day in Saigon, including one where a motorcycle crashed into people seated at a sidewalk cafe.  There are 12,000,000+ people in Saigon.  And they say that there are 10,000,000 motorbikes.

Highlights in Saigon:

1. War Remnants Museum:  This was an extraordinarily enlightening and difficult few hours.  We both realized how very little we knew about the American War in Vietnam (what it is called here), the extent of the abhorrent injustice of it, and the continued effects TO THIS DAY of the damage done by the U.S. during those years.  It’s un-stomach-able, yet there seems to be a complete lack of grudge-holding by the Vietnamese, at least as far as we can tell in our interactions with the locals.  People of our generation have basically told us that “it’s an old story” and the only thing that makes sense is to move forward.  The U.S. has provided some  support to victims of the war who are still suffering, or whose offspring are suffering, from the effects of Agent Orange, and that meager and completely insufficient support still seems to leave people with a positive opinion of the U.S.

2. Bird Café:  We dubbed this place the Bird Café.  But as far as we can tell, it has no name.  It’s just a place where you can get a drink in one of Saigon’s numerous and surprisingly beautiful urban parks – with one catch.  We stumbled upon it completely by accident and I, at least, was completely mesmerized – so much so that a Vietnamese guy (Kenny) who has spent the past 7 years in New Zealand invited us to sit down for a coffee while he explained things – he was that amused by the look on my face upon our arrival.  The Bird Café is nothing more than a place where rich Vietnamese men go in the morning with their caged pet birds, drink coffee, look at each other’s birds, show off their own birds, and go home.  They arrive on motos with their immaculate bird cages covered, they unload them on to the tables in front of them or hang them from poles, remove the covers (or not – this I did not get at all), chat amongst themselves, and then load them up again and go back to whence they came. Kenny showed us one bird – and the birds do not look like much – that was worth $2,000 U.S.  Let’s keep in mind that the average annual income per capita in Vietnam is less than $1200 U.S. (and for many rural inhabitants of course, much, MUCH less).  It was so totally weird and so totally awesome.  I made Gabe go back a second morning.  If you are ever in Saigon, go there as much as possible.  You must go early and I highly recommend Sundays.

3. Inappropriately- Dressed-For-The- Weather Vietnamese:  We took advantage of Kenny’s English to get a few more burning questions answered.  For starters, what’s with the really long fingernails on men, and why on earth does everyone here wear facemasks (in other words, are we going to die of some horrible disease if we don’t start wearing them ourselves)? And why in 90+ degree heat do people wear hooded sweatshirts, gloves, socks, jeans, and countless other heatstroke inducing articles of clothing? Turns out it’s all about status.  As we all know, you can’t work with your hands and maintain long fingernails. And we also know that the more time in the sun, the darker the skin.  Working under the sun or with your hands indicates a lower status.  So when outside during the day, even while sitting in the shade, people (women especially) cover every inch of their bodies.  Facemasks (sometimes doubled up) with bibs to cover the neck, satin evening gown gloves while riding a scooter, socks or panty hose (!!!!!!!! – I can’t even wear those when it’s cold out) under sandals, hats of all types (the hotter the better), construction workers in jeans AND jean jackets, fake fur-lined hooded sweatshirts, and other unimaginably hot garments.  Also, try finding soap or face or hand lotion in this country that is not some special “whitening formula” (not possible) – if the sun gets you, bleach it back into submission.

4. Street Drinking:  After our dinner plans were thwarted by discovering the distance needed to travel to the restaurant we had selected (this city goes on forever), we ended up at a sidewalk bar to have a beer and regroup.  We were fortunate enough to be seated next to a couple of really nice Vietnamese people who spoke some English.  They started asking us some questions and four hours and eight beers (between the two of us – and no, I do not have a drinking problem, thank you) later, we had still not eaten dinner.  It was one of the most fun evenings we have had in Vietnam.  Generous, warm, interesting people, and non-stop laughter.  The highlight was definitely Gabe, accent and all, teaching the our Vietnamese companions how to street-sell Vietnamese style, the last part of which I caught on video.  We got our bar bill around 11:30 pm – for a whopping $2.40 (I remind you, for eight beers) – at which point our second choice of restaurants was already closed.  But it was an epic evening, and street drinking – a very popular pastime in Saigon – is an experience not to be missed.

5. Aimless wandering: Saigon is an endless web of people and commerce, huge boulevards and tiny alleys, teeming with city life.  You could walk for weeks and not see the same thing twice, and never, ever get bored.  There are some amazing Chinese Pagodas and some old and beautiful colonial buildings including the General Post Office and the Opera House. There are also some extraordinarily posh areas with designer shops and fancy hotels.  We checked out a bunch of five star hotels to catch views from their exclusive rooftop bars and take advantage of the A/C.  Our favorite was The Caravelle whose buffet – at $56/person including unlimited champagne and wine – puts any Vegas buffet (and any buffet at all, for that matter) to complete and total shame.

So that is Saigon in an oversized nutshell.

We left Saigon four days ago and headed for Ben Tre in the Mekong Delta – a town that was supposed to have very little tourism and a lot of authentic Vietnamese Delta life.  From the moment we were squeezed into the very last row of a 115 degree A/C-less mini-bus built for people no taller than 4’ 9’’, with a dude chain smoking next to us, and 31  heads (30 human, 1 bird) turned 180 degrees around to stare at us most of the ride, it was clear that this was a very big understatement.  Ben Tre is the bee’s knees for those of us who like to visit places off the beaten tourist path.  There are three people in this (not very small) town that speak English (besides the word “hello”) and they all work at Hotel Oasis (where we’re staying).  Other than that you are on your own.  No one tries to sell you anything.  No one tries to grab your arm and shove you into their stall as you walk through the market.  No one charges you more than the locals pay. EVERYONE yells hello and laughs and smiles as you ride by on your bike – either that or they stare at you like you just fell out of the sky from another planet.  It is nothing short of delightful.

The first day we took at $0.07 ferry (each way) to a tiny island in the middle of a Mekong tributary and explored the palm-lined paths that serve as roads (for bikes and the rare motorbike).  People there have fish farms or grow pomelos or papayas or coconuts.  It seems like the most tranquil existence ever.  Kids LOVE it when you ride by, yelling hello over and over again and then giggling uncontrollably when you respond.  After retreating to our hotel to avoid the midday heat and hang by the pool, Laura and Tolo surprised us and showed up at our hotel.  We had yet another super fun afternoon and evening hanging with them at our hotel and eating a typical outrageously huge Ben Tre meal (more on that later) and made plans for a biking adventure the next day.

We set out early the next day and spent the better part of 7 hours biking and laughing our way through the winding paths of the delta on our way to and from another island with a more expensive ferry ($0.10 each way). The island was amazing – with tiny bridges over countless waterways, winding dirt embankments for “roads”, and much balance required so that you didn’t fall into the water while navigating the paths.  Gabe was having a lot of fun asking for directions – whether we needed them or not – or where to eat, or to get his bike fixed, or anything else he could come up with to interact with people who had no clue what he was saying.  He brought to a complete halt the productivity of a group of 12 women sewing sheets who all stopped dead in their tracks to watch him ask some questions about where the four of us might possibly find a place to eat.  They did not get back to work until we left.  We all agreed we would have paid large sums of money for a transcript-ed translation of what they were saying about him/us.

 

We finally did find a place that appeared to serve food and they brought to us what appeared to be a menu – insofar as it had pictures of food on it – and after Gabe drew some impressive caveman hieroglyphics to try to communicate that we did not want any beef, pork, or chicken, we successfully ordered stir-fried noodles with seafood, spring rolls and some rice.  Or so we thought.  Everything started out fine.  First came a massive plate of noodles; it even had seafood.  Perfect.  Next came about a dozen grilled sardines.  Huh?  Next came a massive pot of soup with a very large fish head in it along with a number of unidentifiable vegetables and fruits. Ok, WTF? Then a huge plate of cucumbers.  Cool, I guess.  And finally, another massive bowl containing at least 10 cups of cooked rice. Who can eat that much rice??  Aside from the soup which was deemed inedible by everyone present and fed piece by piece – fish head an all – to the dogs at our feet, the food was plentiful and delicious, and the experience was awesome.  Laura and Tolo treated us and covered the $6.50 bill (including 4 iced teas) and we headed home through a downpour to say our goodbyes (yet again).

 

That was yesterday.  Today was our last day in Ben Tre and after hitting the morning market to gawk at all the beautiful and gross and delicious and crazy things people eat around here, we headed out for yet another day of bike riding.  After about 45 minutes of weaving through picturesque paths and neighborhoods along waterways and tributaries, over bridges narrow and narrower, and after a venomous snake dropped out of a tree right in front of Gabe’s bike, got caught in his wheel for a few rotations, and slithered off the path, we happened upon an adorable little restaurant with tables out over the water.  We attempted to order a light lunch of coconut prawns and fish spring rolls and, in typical Ben Tre fashion, were served an inordinate amount of food.  The “spring rolls” consisted of an entire fish and platefuls of the accoutrements for rolling them.  It was absolutely delicious.

The moment we stood up from lunch the skies opened up (the rain-only-at-night trend ended abruptly upon our arrival in the delta) but we pulled on our ponchos and went for it anyway.  After about 10 minutes, and after it had started to really pour, the back tire of my bike popped spontaneously. We had no idea where we were and there were very few people around, so we figured we were going to have to walk back to the hotel – whatever way that was.  A barefoot, raincoat-less guy on a motorbike pulling a small trailer of coconuts rode up, and in charades we showed him my tire and asked which way town was.  He pointed and gestured and told us and asked us a bunch of things in Vietnamese until we did what we thought he wanted us to do – walk straight ahead.  He proceeded to follow right behind us on his motorbike, encouraging us onward when we again tried to ask what the heck we were doing, and walked us 20 minutes in the rain right to the front door of the tire repair guy.  The tire guy patched up my tire in 10 minutes – charging a steep fee of $0.24 cents – while our escort watched, waited and pointed, and refused to take a penny for spending half an hour of his day in the pouring rain sorting out our helpless western tourist selves.  It is hard to explain how awesome the experience was but my tire popping was the absolute best thing that happened all day.  After the patch job we headed back out and spent a couple more hours getting blissfully lost, amongst the paths and waterways, under the warm rain, in the backwaters that belong to the toothless guy on the wooden boat waving hello, to the shirtless guy bathing his pet rooster, to the shoeless kids running after us to say hello, to all of the amazing people of this community who have shown us such hospitality.

So that has been Ben Tre, again, in an oversized nutshell.  Tomorrow we are supposedly hitching a ride on a cargo boat that winds its way to the Southern end of the delta to a town called Tra Vinh.  From there we will try to find a bus or a boat or a motorbike to cross over the border to Cambodia where new adventures await.  If you are still reading at this point, that is very impressive.

With love and gratitude,

Haley and Gabe

Other notes:

Obesity is almost totally absent here.  Most people aren’t even slightly over weight.  Most are just right.  Wish America/I knew their secret.

Quote of the week:  “How do you do these things again?”  We bought our first postcard in 10 months and this was Gabe’s question to me when he sat down to write it.  He literally could not remember how to address it.  Keeping in touch at home with email, blogs, and wi-fi is a far cry from the days of postcards.  (Don’t be sad if you are not the recipient of the postcard.  It’s not personal.  We’re just lazy.)

A woman approached me while we were resting in a park in Saigon.  She offered me a pedicure for one dollar.  After I politely thanked her in response to every one of the 10 angles she tried, she pulled out her big guns.  Her final push:  “Why not?  Your feet very dirty!”  As my sister Megan would say, “umm….GFY”.

For those who like chicken, the chicken here is truly free range.  And the range in which they walk freely is the same one in which you and I walk freely.  Chickens are absolutely everywhere.  Crossing the street, in the bushes, tied to people’s front doors, on the buses, sitting patiently upside down in funnels in storefronts (I don’t know, so don’t ask), on motorbikes, in burlap bags hanging from the fencing around the Saigon War Remnants Museum (?!).