Saigon Sojourn

Due to unforesenn visa complications and the nefarious actions of one very bad man in Mui Ne, we came to Saigon earlier than we expected to sort ourselves out. Since we're seasoned travelers with only 10 days of our trip remaining, we were unphased by this change of plans. We even enjoyed our overnight bus trip and the hour of early morning park sitting we experienced while waiting for a room to be ready. We are really getting the hang of this.

Speaking of parks, the Vietnamese are all about the communal open space, and Saigon is no exception. There are a fair number of lovely parks with huge, old trees and large numbers of people stretching and playing badminton in them. Swarming around these parks are 3 million (literally) motorbikes - even after 4 months of SE Asian travel, the site is astounding. Every street crossing is a life-affirming victory.

After fixing our visa issues for good with a not evil Saigonian, we embarked on a self-guided tour of the city, beginning with the Independence Palace. Rebuilt in the early 1960s, it is a tribute to the architectural excentricities of the time. The furniture is strait out of a Bond movie, particularly the corduroy chairs in the Official Gambling Room. There is a helipad on the roof, adjacent to the minibar and dance floor. The high-tech equipment is all in the basement, including a room full of type writers and an array of pastel rotary phones. Very impressive.

Looking at the darker side of the 1960s, we moved on to the War Remnants Museum. Although we of course knew what the American army did to Vietnam during the war, the museum was a powerful and disheartening reminder, particularly the section on the effects of Agent Orange. Children in the areas sprayed with the chemical are still being born with horrible birth defects, and military personell who handled the chemicals were also effected. Pretty graphic and scary images made us astounded by how nice and friendly the Vietnamese are to us American travelers.

Its really, really hot and we went to see a movie for the air conditioning. It was totally worth it.

Today we took the obligatory trip to the Cu Chi tunnels, for which we were forced to break our No Tour rule (or shell out an unreasonable amount of dong for a private driver). About 30 kilometers outside of Saigon, the Cu Chi villagers built a network of tunnels and bunkers that were more than 200 kilometers long. The Viet Cong used the tunnels during the American War to launch guerilla attacks, carry supplies around, and generally live in since the Americans were bombing the hell out of their villages. Going into the tunnels gave us a serious appreciation for the dedication of the Vietnamese people, and the tinyness of their bodies. The tunnels are 2 feet wide and 2 1/2 feet tall, swelteringly hot, and generally unbearble. We were in them for about 5 minutes, which was plenty. VC soldiers and civilians lived there for months at a time.

We're taking an overnight bus (just can't get enough) to the coast tonight in order to get to Phu Quoc Island, so we've been killing time this afternoon wandering around the alleys of our neighborhood. We happened upon a haircutting shop, and since Kyle's hair was both way too long and pretty dirty, she got a haircut. Which came, inexplicably, with a face massage. Its a nice way to get clean when you don't have a hotel room, though its a little odd to have your hair blowdried and looking fabulous when, from the neck down, you are a filthy slob.

Biking with Vihnny

Taking motorized transportation is so 20th century. In this age of green living, conscientious 20 somethings like us get there using the most renewable of resources: human power. Ok, there was a van lurking behind us the entire 160 kilometer trip, probably burning more gas than the bus, and it was mostly down hill, but still. We are Portlanders, and we miss our bicycles, and so we decided to bike it from Dalat to Mui Ne, cost be damned.

We started out bright and early with a short but harrowing ride out of the city and into the beautiful rolling hills of flower farms that surround Dalat. Our guide Vihn (or Vihnny, if you're from Jersey) was nice, polite, and shy, and dutifully showed us the tourist spots along the way. We stopped at the rice hooch making shop (very strong), the silk making factory (very mechanical), and Elephant Waterfall (very liquidy). Then we hit the sweet part of the day - an enormous downhill on windy roads with fantastic views of the hills and valley. What goes down must, even from the mountains to the coast, go up, and we had a significant climb before lunch. We inhaled a pile of bread, cheese, and veggies while the rainclouds approached, and waited out 2 hours of massive storm. Then we got back on the bikes for the last 30 kilometers of the day.

The best thing about bicycling in rural areas is definitely the Stare Down. The further from major cities you get, the better the Stare Down becomes. The very old and the very young are the best practitioners of the Stare Down, but it can be effectively executed by almost anyone. The Stare Down is total, unabashed, full faced staring at us that cannot be deterred by any amount of reciprocal eye contact, smiling, waving, or greeting. There are two prominent forms that the Stare Down can take, the first being the Cross the Street Stare Down. The Starer (usually elderly) spots us about a block away, and begins to stare. While maintaining eye contact, he or she crosses the street in front of us, sometimes necessitating a brake or swerve from oncoming traffic. Once safely across the street, presumably at a better staring vantage point, the Starer continues the stare. The second and most unnerving case is the Moto Approach Stare. A family on a moto approaches us on the left as we're riding, and intends to pass us. However, upon seeing that we are Stare-worthy, the moto pulls along side and maintains our speed to get a good look. The child in the front and the one hanging onto the back generally employ the Open-Mouthed Stare, sometimes accompanied by the Point. The adults, both driver and passenger, silently and unwaveringly practice the classic Stare. This move can go on for upwards of a kilometer, and is sometimes finished with an audible laugh before they finally complete their pass. It makes us feel connected to the local people.

After many staring encounters, we spent the night in Di Linh, a little town of mostly farmers. Exhausted by our day, we ate early and went to bed. At breakfast the next morning, Kyle turned to Kate with an audible, "Oh, no." She had just rubbed her eye with the hand she had recently used to spread chili seeds on her baguette. A comical few minutes of running around the courtyard (didn't help), splashing water on her eye (made things worse), running blindly across the road, and generally freaking out in the hotel room resulted in Kyle being down one contact and swollen-eyed for the second day of riding. Off to a not so auspicious start, we began the ride with a few kilometers of rolling hills and then a seriously steep 5 kilometer climb. Luckily, the scenery made up for the heat and incline, and we had lunch on the ridge of the mountain with puppies and pigs all around. The best part of the day was the 11 kilometer downhill, accompanied by amazing views (that were luckily on the non-chili-afflicted side). As we descended, the heat of the lowlands was like opening the oven door to check on your delicious batch of cookies, except without the promise of baked goods. It was seriously hot. We finished with a really, really, really hot 25 kilometers of flat ride. We were tired and sweaty but certainly victorious as we found a hotel in Mui Ne and bid Vinnhy a fond farewell.

Dalatful

Dalat is the honeymoon capital of Vietnam - which is kind of surprising when you first roll into town. At first glance, this is a hilly city that seems to have grown up in the last 20 years, with newly constructed houses and storefronts more from the utilitarian than picturesque school of design. But Dalat is surrounded by beautiful countryside and claims a central lake and golf course, as well as some swanky hotels we have not been inside. Many tourists get a motorcycle guide to see the temples and waterfalls of the surrounding areas, but since we have sworn off tours, we are officially charting our own course.

On day one in Dalat, we embarked on foot for Crazy House. This house/hotel/tourist attraction/architectural wonder lives up to its name. Think Gaudi meets Dali paintings with sequins and a little bit of the Flintstones thrown in for good measure. There are staircases that lead to no where. There are cubby holes with tiny tables and strangely configured windows. The bedrooms have animal shaped fireplaces and mirrors on the ceilings above the beds. There is a giraffe entangled in one stairway, and half of the building is still under construction. Basically, one climbs around the house and exclaims, "This place is crazy!" And if you're planning a trip, you can stay in one of the animal-themed rooms. It was like nothing we've yet seen on this trip.

The next day we decided to climb a nearby mountain for what was described as a "nice three hour hike." We hired some moto drivers to take us out to the park, and began our climb on a steep paved road, while jeeps and other motos whizzed by. Kyle was a little disappointed in the asphaltyness of the hike, until we turned onto the trail that lead to the peak - only 3 kilometers away. We can do this, we thought, despite the massive uphill we'd already conquered. The trail had a slight incline and lovely views, and we joked about the far-off mountain we were happy to not be climbing. Think again, ladies, as that indeed was our destination. It soon became apparent that this would not be as easy as we had anticipated, but we remained in good spirits until the final 500 meters of pretty much vertical climb. We were determined to beat the mountain, but this was not what we had intended. We huffed and puffed and swore and took many breaks. And then we finally reached the top, sweaty and out of breath, only to encounter 25 Vietnamese teenagers. They were having a picnic, complete with portable stove and wok full of noodles. As expected, they giggled, practiced their English phrases, and took many pictures with us that prominently featured the peace sign. Our pride was a little bruised, but we were still happy to enjoy the incredible panoramic view of the valley and Dalat. And to be going downhill for the second half of the hike.

Day three in Dalat we decided to explore the town on 2 wheels and one vehicle - a tandem bicycle. Neither of us had ever ridden a bicycle built for two, but we figured we could easily ride it in traffic the hilly 6 kilometers to a nearby lake. After our initial attempts at starting, we scaled back our plans to just bike around Dalat's central lake. On the sidewalk. We spent the better part of the day wobbling around and around the lake while making beeping noises at oblivious pedestrians. Starting and stopping were difficult, and hills were unfathomable. We pretty much got the hang of it, but switching steerers set us back. By the end of the day, we could safely navigate even the narrowest side walks. We have really picked up a lot of new skills on this trip.

Tomorrow, we leave for the coast on a 2 day mountain bike adventure. Its a lot of kilometers, but we're convinced they're mostly down hill. At least we'll each have our own ride.

Overnight bus but the beach is worth it

Departing lovely Hoi An, we boarded the trusty overnight bus and settled in for a bumpy and mostly sleepless night. Six in the morning found us pulling into Nah Trang, a biggish city with a beautiful beach at dawn.

Nah Trang was not on our list of cities to visit, as its large and fairly developed beachfront just looked a little too much for us, but we figured getting on another 5 hour bus ride after an overnight ride was just too cruel. What with our upcoming visa extension, we figured we had time for an extra day here in Nah Trang. Thank goodness we did!

Nah Trang is actually quite a lovely city - big and bustling but clean and has a great beach. The only other big city with beachfront we have seen was Kuta in Bali which was extremely polluted, crawling with tacky tourists and gross chain restaurants. Nah Trang is a big city but doesn't seem to have too much overwhelming tourism and what it does have, like the parasailing, windsurfing, sailing and scuba diving, seems to help keep this waterfront and beach lively, well used and clean!!

We spent the afternoon at a hot springs resort about 10 minutes outside of town. There was a 7 step regiment for optimal health benefits from this mud bath/mineral soak wonderland. We were ushered into a tub with a Vietnamese couple which was full of cool liquid mud the consistency of a chocolate shake. A somewhat awkward 15 minute soak in this small muddy bathtub with another couple involved all of us pouring pails of mud over our arms, chests, and backs. Most local people were in shorts and tank tops and we quickly figured out why. The mud got well trapped in our suits, especially between the layers of the lining and the outside, and made us both a muddy, saggy, bloated mess! In this goopy state, we were instructed to sit in the sun for 10 minutes before rinsing. The ground and rocks were so hot from the super-charged sun we were forced to hop from foot to foot to not burn our feet. Quite a sight.

After a thorough mineral shower rinse, we were hustled into a 3 foot wide channel of rocks which sprayed water at you from all sides - imagine car wash meets leaky dam. After the pressure wash, we were pointed towards larger mineral hot tubs to soak with more strangers. After that, on to the big, but still hot, soaking pool. Keep in mind that it's a good 85-90 degrees out so at this point, we were not only pretty pruney but quite thoroughly cooked. We cut short our 7 steps to mineral-induced health and headed home feeling silky smooth with just a few pockets of mud in our ears.

Cooking with the Militant Chef

Vietnam, I praise you extensively for your use of the night bus. Its time efficient and saves me the cost of a night's lodging. But it does leave me with the odd space of a day on my hands without the refuge of a grubby hotel room. Thus, it was decided that a day-long cooking course would be perfect before embarking on a night-long bus journey. And it was perfect, and involved the wonderful character of the Militant Chef. This is his story.

The Militant Chef works at a cooking school about 4 km down river from Hoi An proper. His minions take care of the shopping and cleaning and shuttling of customers, the welcome drinks and market tours and herb sampling that are required for an up-market foodie extravaganza. The Militant Chef stays in the demonstration area with his personal knife and his clipboards full of recipes. The Militant Chef has terrible teeth.



After his class has been assembled and properly pampered by people that smile and crack terrible jokes, the Militant Chef approaches his counter, checking his reflection in the angled mirror above him. His smock and apron are spotless; his prep bowls have been laid out with spices and sauces. The Militant Chef does not introduce himself or smile. His tone is somewhere between aggressive and bored. He chops and slices and assembles, using only the number of words required to describe exactly what he is doing. He finishes each dish with the phrase, "Now Get up! Leave everything!" His pupils frantically place their clipboards and cameras on their chairs before scurrying to their cooking stations. "Oil, now! Chop finely! More finely!" He stalks up and down the row of burners, shaking his head. Under their breath, people refer to the Militant Chef as Gordon Raimsey of reality television's Hell's Kithcen. The Militant Chef is not amused.

One pretty little blond student thinks that 2 cloves of garlic might be enough for her eggplant dish, and it had been a mistake to place 3 cloves on her prep plate. The Militant Chef stalks over and points a long finger at the remaining clove, staring the student accusingly in the eye. He looks at the clove. He looks at the student. No words need be exchanged - the student chops the garlic without protest, being sure to chop it very finely indeed.

When all dishes have been cooked, the class adjourns to the dining area to feast on their creations. The students mingle and chatter, complementing their food with local La Rue beer. The Militant Chef does not join them. The Militant Chef does not wish them bon appetite. The Militant Chef polishes his chopping knife in anticipation of his afternoon class.

Hoi Hoi Hoi An

We love Hoi An - how could you not? The old section is full of small cobblestone streets with wooden shop fronts - nothing over two stories - and a riverfront with great restaurants. There are a few Hoi An specialty foods that you can't get anywhere else, such as white rose, which are the closest thing we've found to Kyle's favorite chinese dumplings. Kate has had the local noodle dish, lau cao, at least once a day. And a flat 4 kilometer bike ride brings you to a lovely strip of beach with refreshingly cool water. The sun has reappeared after a nearly 2 week hiatus. We hear there are historical places to see. Things are good.

It should not be overlooked that Hoi An is also the tailoring center of Vietnam. There are about 150 shops dedicated to making custom tailored clothing of all types, particularly and inexplicably wool jackets. As our return to reality approaches, we recognized some glaring holes in our (well, Kyle's) domestic wardrobe. So Kyle got a 3 piece pinstripe suit with the idea that looking respectable will make her more employable. And being that we're in our 20s and its Spring, wedding season is upon us, so Kyle got a custom-made little silver number. Kate's obsession with outerwear led to the Great Jacket Hunt of 2009, which was completed in the sweaty 90 degree heat of mid-day mid-coast Vietnam. A dedicated shopper, the heat and language barrier could not deter Kate from finding exactly what she wants in a short wool coat. Additionally, being measured across the bust and around the hips by tiny Vietnamese women after 4+ months of sticky rice and curry is a humbling experience. Kate would like to reiterate that it was a really, really hot process but ultimately incredibly rewarding. Plus, they take credit cards.

Realizing the bulk that these garments will add to our packs, we shipped home a box of well-worn and superfluous travel clothes, which should arrive in Portland sometime in July. Thank you, seamail.

No Hue!

The ancient city of Hue is both ancient and a city. After the overnight bus ride which was much helped by a dose of Tylenol PM, we took ourselves on a groggy self-guided tour of the citadel. It was interesting and enormous and right in the middle of the city - we recommend stopping if you're in the neighborhood.



The next day, we went on the popular boat tour of the ancient tombs surrounding Hue. Vietnam is all about the tour, as are the foreign tourists who visit Vietnam, so we thought we'd give it a shot. I think we were sort of unsure how to proceed after the parental units departed, and we didn't remember exactly what our traveling style consisted of. Plus, we like boats and looking at stuff, so how bad could it be? We cannot emphasize enough how bad this tour is. Suffice it to say that it was both boring and exhausting, though some beautiful things were seen, albeit at a glacial pace. This tour also allowed us to witness a meltdown by a 45 year old woman over a 60 cent beverage that required a series of urgent cell phone calls (obviously she was American - and from the East coast). It was at this point that we vowed to never again participate in a tour.

On the plus side, we discovered our new favorite photographic endeavor: spelling our names with our bodies in front of various scenic and historic places (which are much obscured by our limbs). Kate really excels at the T, while Kyle is a clear favorite in the Y category. We both struggle with Es.