Vietnam

Vietnam

March 1st. St David’s Day. Inevitably thoughts go with my family. My long gone parents. My granddaughter Polly in Sweden who’s 6 today. My brother Jim who’s 84. One end of the scale altogether. The Welsh don’t go overboard with the celebration of their patron saint, not like the hysterics that accompany the Irish and St Patrick’s Day but when it comes around I always think of my folk. 

Ive landed in Hanoi, 17 hours after leaving Heathrow for this Vietnam adventure. Its half eleven in the morning, the heat is more than welcome after the cold of the winter at home. The Trailfinders guide Zing, not the correct spelling but near enough, is standing in the Arrivals lounge of the airport. Emerging from the exit of the customs a throng of people stand holding placards with names on. They look like a herd of manic football fans. Seeking some form of recognition there amongst them was Zing. Holding a placard with my name on it. Like magic. A welcome sight. Its a funny sort of feeling, similar to waiting for your suitcase to emerge from the dark tunnel of the baggage hall. Don’t know why I always feel surprised when it turns up after a long haul flight with a break and connection in between. ‘Your baggage will go straight through sir’ I was assured at Heathrow. I had a two hour break at Dubai to contemplate, rest and recharge for the second 7 hour leg of the journey. Tiresome but if you want to visit far off places there’s no other way, and Ive long come to terms with it. Zing takes me to the taxi and off we go. On the way Zing outlines the agenda and itinerary for the next couple of days, starting tomorrow. I’m weary but listening. Can’t wait to get started but thankfully the afternoon is time for me to catch up with some zzzz, settle in at the Silk Path Hotel, situated in the ‘old quarter’ Zing informs me. 

Zing

I estimated I’d been up for 36 hours at this point, I was exhausted. An early night was on the cards, a nap, a shower, some fresh clothes and I decided on a stroll around the immediate vicinity of the Silk Path to get some sort of bearing and also some food. My first impression of Hanoi, like so many others I guess, was the mayhem that ensued on the streets. ‘There’s over 6 million scooters in Hanoi’ Zing had informed me. Unbelievable! Thus the quality of air was far from acceptable. Pollution hung like a cloud over the city. Crossing the road i discovered was taking your life in your hands. No control, no right of way, take your chance. Like trying to make your way through a swarm of bees, car and hooter horns blaring incessantly, scooters cutting everyone up, from all angles. I would become amazed at the mania and the fact that all the time i was going to spend in Vietnam over the next two weeks, I wouldn’t witness one outbreak of road rage! Back on the roads in Britain there’d be carnage, murder. Something to admire I figured.

One thing I was looking forward to on this holiday was the food. Vietnamese food. The flavours are something to behold. So after walking around for an hour I found a restaurant/ cafe not far from the hotel. A local beer, ‘Hydra’ and a meal of stewed chicken and ginger was ordered. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what to order, couldn’t figure the menu out, I was too knackered to concentrate. But, I was confident the Vietnamese cuisine wouldn’t let me down. It did. The chicken was awful. ‘Must have been a pensioner of a chicken’ I thought to myself. Tough as old boots. I struggled through it, enjoyed the accompanying salad, drank my beer up and went off to my bed. I went out like a light.

Zing and his driver Hung turned up prompt. The humidity was high, not helped by the fumes emanating from the million scooters which permeated the air. You can understand the use of face masks around here. What was amazing, amusing, bewildering, was the way that everyone over here sees the scooter as a mode of transport akin to a van. Every second or third  scooter had three, four people on board. Children clinging on as they skirted their way through the chaos of the road. Scooters with sacks, bags, boxes, trees, even a full blown fridge freezer tied on the back! Anything was strapped on one way or another. Amidst the maelstrom was the occasional rickshaw, women carrying their wares over their shoulders, cars and taxis tooting their horns, scooters responding likewise. Standing looking out of the foyer while I awaited for Zing and Hung, I thought ‘this place is mad’. A Scottish couple Billy and Rachel from ‘near Loch Lomond’ swapped tales and their thoughts with me. They too thought the place was crazy.

Off we headed for the first port of call, the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh, the father of Vietnam. Ho, referred to as Uncle Ho rather than Dad in these parts is revered everywhere you go. The leader of the North Vietnamese who enlisted the Chinese and the Russians to help in the cause for reunification of the north and south, to fight against the colonisation of the French and then America, is deified. Ho lies in state in the mausoleum at Hanoi. “Do you know’ Zing enlightened me, ‘there are only three leaders in the world who have had their bodies embalmed and lie in state?’ Well I didn’t and couldn’t have told him but apparently its Ho Chi Minh, Lenin and Chairman Mao. ‘All communist leaders’. When we arrived there was already a queue three blocks long. We joined the queue. ‘This is the best time to come’ Zing informed me. ‘The queues in the afternoon can stretch for over three kilometres’. Well, it must be worth it I figured. The queue moved slowly, police and guards with their armoury ushering everyone in line, stone faced. Eventually we were there, an ordinary looking square building. Filing through, past the prostate figure of Ho we moved, never stopping, you’re not allowed to dwell, take photographs. Exiting the hall, the queue still stretched beyond as far as the naked eye could see. Makes you wonder. People come and stand in line to pay homage, stand in the heat, which was 37o this day, as the procession gently continues. And being a westerner, I couldn’t help but think, ‘why?’ Vietnam is a Buddhist country, religion is high on the list of priorities, you have to respect that. 

Outside after visiting Uncle Ho

Moving on, next stop was a wooden stilted house where Ho lived. He preferred to live an ordinary lifestyle rather than inhabit huge grandiose palaces. You can view his bedroom, living room, kitchen, library. Set in an impressive garden with lakes it is modest but impressive. Ho saw his days out here, passing away in 1969 aged 79. ‘Remarkable’ says Zing, ‘he smoked all his life, yet still lived till 79’. When the average lifespan for the Vietnamese was ten or more years less. 

Visits to a temple or two followed, I couldn’t keep up, marvellous buildings that they are, impressive artefacts belonging to various emperors and Zing, and Hung, full of admiration and keen to show me more were somewhat surprised when I asked politely if, instead of visiting another temple, could I visit the Hanoi Prison? 

We had strolled around the Trúc Bạch Lake in Hanoi, which is a bit of a misnomer, it’s more like a sea, but no, Zing assured me it was a lake. ‘It’s where the American pilot and future senator, John McCain was recovered from after bailing out of his doomed jet, shot down by a missile in 1967’.

‘McCain fractured both arms and a leg when he ejected from the aircraft and nearly drowned after he parachuted into the Lake. Some North Vietnamese pulled him ashore, then others crushed his shoulder with a rifle butt and bayoneted him. He was then transported to Hanoi's main Hỏa Lò Prison, nicknamed the Hanoi Hilton.

Although seriously wounded and injured, his captors refused to treat him. They beat and interrogated him to get information, and he was given medical care only when the North Vietnamese discovered that his father was an admiral. His status as a prisoner of war made the front pages of major American newspapers.

McCain spent six weeks in the hospital, where he received marginal care. He had lost 50 pounds, was in a chest cast, and his gray hair had turned white. McCain was sent to a different camp on the outskirts of Hanoi In December 1967, placed in a cell with two other Americans who did not expect him to live more than a week. In March 1968, McCain was placed into solitary confinement, where he remained for two years.’ - Wikipedia

The facade of the Hilton remains intact, the grounds at the rear of the jail have been redeveloped but the cells and dormitories, for want of a better description, remain. For authenticity life-size figurines chained and locked together in rows give an indication of the hell it once was. Built to accomodate French prisoners during the Indo China war it is a harrowing sight. And the guillotine in a separate room is a reminder of the fate beholden of those who didn’t oblige by the rules. For all the macabre resonance of the place, it is still nonetheless fascinating. But, by all accounts, during the Vietnam War, Americans were treated with civility, which still doesn’t give the impression it was a place of leisure, a two star hotel. Definitely not a great experience. And not one John McCain would agree with either I suspect.

Finishing proceedings off today, Zing and Hung took me to a theatre, all this was the agenda, to watch a ‘Water Puppet Show’. Have to confess I wasn’t that bothered, I was feeling knackered but nonetheless I persevered. Not my cup of tea, the show lasted around half hour, the puppets emerging from behind a curtain telling the story of ‘national history’, dancing and swishing around in water while a combo provided background music and song, which was more to my liking. 

Now that the official itinerary stuff had ended I had time to roam around and discover how the Hanoians lived, the conditions, the poverty. Claustrophobic, the ‘old quarter’ is as far removed from the civilised world we live in back home in Blighty. 


I came across a railway station where people walked aimlessly along the tracks, no barriers or health and safety here. If a train comes along, you take a step back while it goes through. The station was nearby an imposing gate, entrance, to an official looking building, which turned out to be the Ministry of Defence. Two soldiers were on guard. Taking the opportunity to take a picture, they chased me away. Not before I got a snap though. 

I meandered around the oppressive streets looking for a clue for a direction to my hotel. Disorientated though not flustered, I always figure you’ll get there eventually, I moreorless stumbled across the Silk Path and headed for the bar. A nice meal and a couple of beers, ‘Hydra’, some cabaret from a couple of young girls playing interesting instruments and to my surprise a rendition of Elvis’ ‘Its Now Or Never’, I retired to catch up with some much needed rest. Jet Leg was kicking in.

How Long Bay? Or Halong Bay!

Next leg of the tour takes us to Halong Bay situated in the Gulf of Tonkin. Which is where the American destroyer USS Maddox was reputedly attacked by North Vietnamese Navy Torpedo  Boats. True or not, it gave President Johnson the excuse to step up America’s involvement in South East Asia in 1964. This was going to be one of the highlights of my trip which included an overnight stay on the cruise ship Victory Star. 

Fairly early start was called for and up early I awaited Zing and Hung whilst taking in the mayhem again on the road outside. It’s really funny. You wait wondering what is going to turn up next. Hung arrives and away we go. I’m settled in the back seat of the taxi and five hundred yards or so down the road, Hung pulls up. ‘Oh, he must have forgotten something’ I ponder. A conversation, slightly agitated, ensues between Hung and Zing and next thing, Hung is opening up the boot, getting my case and bag out, depositing them on the side of the road, uttering something that sounded apologetic as he opened my door, gets back in and drives off! Confused and Zing looking as bewildered as me, Zing explains he said something that Hung took umbrage to. Hung apparently told him he doesn’t need the money, get someone else and he’s got more things to worry about..etc. Well, there’s nothing I can do. Zing apologised, told me he’d book another taxi, not to worry, ‘let’s go and get a coffee’ and promised we’d make the departure time for the cruise I was booked on at Halong Bay which was around 12.30. Well I wasn’t worried, take these things in your stride as you do. Nowt you can do about these blips! We did seem to await an age for another taxi to arrive so meantime I took advantage and snapped a few more scenes of the bedlam occurring on the road. And even better, a train coming through across the road alongside a row of terraced houses where just five minutes previously I’d checked out and found people walking along the railway line, sitting on the track, women hanging washing out, barely two feet from the railway. You just can’t help but smile, laugh and imagine how this would go down back home! As someone said; ‘Health and Safety would shut the whole country down!’

After a delay of getting on for 45 minutes, the second taxi duly arrives and the driver introduces himself, ‘Good morning’ he said with a huge smile, that’s one thing I’ve noticed, everyone appears to be happy over here. “I’m Hub’. Well, again, that tickles me. Love the names! 

The drive takes over three hours, a good opportunity to take in the views of the countryside, the rice fields, various trees and plants which are indigenous of South East Asia and particularly what most people associate with in Vietnam. Images of ‘Apocalypse Now’ and ‘The Deer Hunter’ are conjured up.

Deposited on the quayside, Zing and Hub disappear for the night and I sign in for a short boat ride to the ‘mother’ boat, the Victory Star out in the bay. I was looking forward to this, the boat was quite large, my room more than adequate, dining room and bar sufficient, tidy. So, it was time to chill, a nice cold beer and relax on the upper deck to enjoy the cruise. The photographs you see in the brochures must have been taken around here I surmised, huge rocks jutting out of the sea, all around. Reminded me of the James Bond film, ‘Man With the Golden Gun’ think it was. Magical. Lunch was being served around 5pm giving you time to acquaint yourself with the boat, other guests. One I met was a lady from Birmingham, on her own, she’d even been to Corby which was amazing. ‘I appeared in an athletics meeting there’ she said. There you go, always someone you come across isn’t there? We shared a few conversations which was pleasant. She was finishing off her holiday in Cambodia it happens.

Lunch was mainly a concoction of fish, shrimps, squid, catfish. Lovely, if you like fish. If you don’t you’re stumped! I do.  

We headed on out into the Gulf, a fish farm was our destination. Now I remember an episode with one of these in Thailand. Trying to climb a ladder from a makeshift raft, which was made of oil drums strung together on a few pallets. I ended up clinging for my life, feet on the raft and my arms outstretched hanging onto the ladder steadfast. No way was I going to let go! Panic from above and somehow with the help of my family I scrambled up to safety. Shaken and stirred! To paraphrase Mr Bond.

This fish farm was reached by a rowing boat, six in a boat and a young lady with one of those funny hats on, can’t remember what you call them, rowing for all her might. The water was calm and we were out for around an hour as the lady rowed us around villages of fisheries, in the middle of nowhere, sort of sight you don’t see at home thats for sure. Unless there’s something similar I don’t know about off the coast of Hunstanton.

Twilight was coming in as we made our way back to ‘mother’. Dinner was served at half seven so that gave us time to freshen up, read, change. Sea Bass was on the menu, salads, bean sprouts, and of course, the staple diet of rice. As the evening wore on, many went up on the top deck, drinking bottles of Tiger, quietly speaking amongst themselves in groups. I had a nice chat with Miss Birmingham before heading back to the bar. Surprisingly, everyone seemed to be heading for their bunks, they did mostly look older than me but I can’t say I saw any cups of Ovaltine doing the rounds. I perched myself on a barstool, had a great chat with the barman and polished the night off with a large Grand Marnier. Perfect.

Next morning it was a slow cruise back to base where Zing and Hub were waiting to take me on a four drive to Hanoi Airport for the flight to Hue. On the way we stopped a couple of times, once for a wander around what Zing described as ‘Vegetable Fields’. I soon gathered he meant what we call Allotments. It was interesting to see different plants and the rice and lemongrass being grown in rows that on first sight just looked like overgrown grass. The smell gave it away though. Love the smell of lemongrass. Farmers and villagers rely on their products produced in these fields. When you consider the lowest paid workers in Vietnam are on £180 a month, you can see why. 

We also stopped at an oyster farm to see how the workers, young girls, extract pearls from the shells and how necklaces, rings and whatever are made. Never seen that before, quite amazing really. Delicate. 

One more stop to the airport was at an outlet where you could buy anything from a dress, mug, pen, picture to a cup of coffee. Could have spent a fortune in here and I did buy some more gifts. I was still trying to get used to the money and exchange rate. When you are charged a million Dong for a picture you stop and think about it. Then realise it’s only about £28!

Travelling around you soon realise everyone is always trying to sell you something. And I’m a sucker. Three days in and I’d already filled my suitcase up with presents for the kids!

The flight to Hue was only an hour. I’d bade farewell to my companions Zing and Hub. Had a photograph taken with both, one which was amusing with Hub clinging on to me as if he didn’t want me to go. At Hue I was meeting up with Ying and his driver Long. Lovely guys, lovely welcome you get over here. The flight gave time to reflect on the way it was going so far. Although temples, pagodas and tombs were on the list once more at Hue, I was more interested in the war museums and history of the Vietnam War, and informed Ying so. Hue was a prime target for the Americans and they did their best to destroy it. I was wanting to see some evidence but of course the war ended in 1975 and chances are that over 40 years later, much has been restored, rebuilt. 

My hotel, The Alba Spa, was down a back alley of a street, thats the best I can describe it. Leading up to the main thoroughfare, a good quarter of a mile away, you walked past an array of houses, shops? The locals sitting around smoking, selling fruit, vegetables, meat, coffee, perched on tiny chairs and tables, inviting you in to their shack or to purchase a pineapple or a bunch of bananas. And of course, the street was like a highway with the scooters, cycles and cars tearing up and down. My thoughts were interrupted when a scooter pulled alongside and the chap, a young guy, asked me if I was looking for a lady. ‘No’ I told him, ‘I’m looking for something to eat’. “I can get you a nice young lady for two dollars’. ‘Really?’ I replied without breaking step. ‘Yes, I can bring her to your hotel’. ‘No thanks” I replied again. ‘What about a ladyboy?’ Christ almighty. Do I look like a prick or something? Desperate? ‘Bog off’ I said, ‘I’m going for something to eat’. Well, funny episode it was, it reminded me of Bangkok and I guess its alright if that’s what your after. I was more interested in a plate of soup! As they would say back home. Must be an age thing. The bars were crowded, music blasting your eardrums, rubbish music at that. Same everywhere, drum and bass monotony, youngsters screaming, having fun I suppose. Coupled with the humidity, it was knackering. I settled for a meal in a bar which was quiet, enjoyed my noodle soup and headed back to the Alba Spa Hotel for a beer and a Grand Marnier to finish off. 

Tomorrow was going to be busy again. I was looking forward to visiting the war museum and Citadel. Less so, another temple but I was prepared to go with the flow!