Tet a tet

Hanoi is not a small city at all, it is huge.

There must be two motorbikes for every person. Half of them are parked on the sidewalk annoyingly blocking my way and the other half seem to be careening along the streets carrying a weeks' shopping and the entire family. At first, it was a novelty to see a family of four riding a Honda 110, now it rarely raises an eyebrow. Thankfully, most people wear helmets. The young children riding on the handlebars don't, but at least the adults do. Most of the time.

Of course, motorbike traffic congestion is legendary in Vietnam and it has been made even more intense by the mad rush to stock up on seasonal treats and Tet supplies for the New Years' celebrations.

The markets were jammed, there were long queues getting into bakeries and supermarkets, the constant "meep-meeping" of the motorbike horns reached new levels. Things eventually winded down.

As afternoon approached, the metal shutters on storefronts started coming down; more and more places were closed for the holiday. At about 8:00 pm, I wandered down to the Vietnam Airlines office to inquire about an airport shuttle. The streets were nearly empty. Whereas before crossing the street was literally a matter of praying that I did not die under the wheels of a careening 100cc scooter, I suddenly had all the streets to myself.

Dinner was a toasted Danish salami and French Camembert sandwich on a nice baguette and washed down with an Orangina. I came back to my lovely $12 a night hotel and watched a movie on HBO. When it was over, I turned out the lights at about 10:00 and fell asleep.

Until midnight.

At exactly midnight, New Years was celebrated with a loud series of explosions, sky rockets, firecrackers and festive music blaring out of the People's loudspeakers that are present upon every utility pole in the city. Seemingly, all leftover U.S. Army ordnance was detonated within the space of a few minutes. Much hilarity ensued.

And then suddenly, as if by some secret signal, it went very quiet and everyone went to bed.

Glass half empty or glass half full?

Before I visited Vietnam last year, I researched stuff on the internet, so much that I got blisters on my fingers.

What I read on the Lonely Planet Thorntree and elsewhere gave me cause for concern. Many (not just some) people who had returned were complaining about, seemingly, everything in Vietnam. The people, the food, the prices, the cleanliness.

At the same time, others were distinctly on the other side of the happiness fence. They wrote of lovely people, wonderful food and overall great experiences.

This year, on the train ride from Hue up to Hanoi, I hung around with a couple of backpackers in hopes of sharing good times, but they did nothing but whinge. They whinged about every possible thing.

Once we arrived in Hanoi, we checked into a very nice hotel. (separate rooms, of course) The next morning, they were still whinging. I ditched them so that they would not harsh my mellow.

I mean, in life you make your own movie and all, but what the fuck is up with the whingers?

Why is it that some people have a swell time and others do not?

What gives?

Towel boy

Not long after I puffed out my chest and proclaimed with absolute certanty to my travel buddies that it was not necessary to pay $25 for a new-fandangled synthetic travel towel, (since, after all, even the grodyest guesthouse provides them) I booked myself onto a tourist traveler cruise to Halong Bay.

The travel agent gave us a list of things to bring along for the cruise. And on that list, it specified that I bring a towel. A towel that I did not have.

I managed to convince the grotty hotel that I am staying in to lend one to me, that I was not going to steal it, that I was, after all, checking back in within 48 hours. I felt humilated having to ask to borrow a towel
(but not nearly as humiliated as my weener became after I went swimming in the cold water of Halong Bay).

Yesterday, I went towel shopping.

I put on my beige Ernest Hemingway outfit (with matching pith helmet) and then hacked my way through the forest vines with a machete until I came to the "Big C" hypermarket located in the outskirts of Hanoi.

Towels are about 80 cents each. I chose a mauve one.

Halong has this been goin' on?

Hanoi is supposed to be much mellower than Saigon, but I haven't noticed much of a difference. It is still a city of incessant horn-honking.

It is also quite chilly up here. I constantly need (but do not have) a fleece jacket. This is a new one on me, I have always traveled in the south where it is much too warm. When I would type, I would often end my sentence with a perspiration.

I am staying in Hanoi's "Old Quarter" which is where everyone with round eyes stays. The streets are small, the buildings are old, crumbling and charming.

The last couple of days I have been playing tourist. I signed up for an overnight cruise of Halong Bay. For a rediculously small sum, one gets to sail the waters of Halong Bay, eat and sleep aboard a luxury junk. http://www.halong-bay.com/

Halong Bay is one of those places which you must see before you die, so put it upon your 'short-list' of vacation destinations. The tour options are roughly similar; some more luxurious than others, but all are basically the same. I chose a middle-range tour ($55) which included a guide, air-conditioned transportation, four meals, and a shared room (with private bath) aboard a spiffy purpose-made junk. Also, swimming opportunities.

How many times in your life will you get the opportunity to jump off of a boat into Halong Bay? I dived in a few times much to the amusement of the crew, who were likely betting their paychecks upon the outcome.

Fortunately, they did not need to call "Marine Mammal Rescue" for me.

Hurry up and Hue

The main mood in Vietnam right now is of anxiety, anticipation and last minute shopping.

To an Westerner, it smells of the week just before Christmas: everyone is running around stocking up on festive stuff: brightly colored gift baskets, seasonal foods, loads of treats in red packaging, large, potted kumquat trees and flowering peaches. There are special banners, displays and promotions on every possible space, from public buildings to Coca-Cola cans.

Vietnam Airlines took me from Saigon up to Hue. The flight is a little over an hour; Hue is about halfway up the country. It was supposed to have been an all-night train ride, but there were no train seats to be had, being so close to Tet and all. For about $10 more, I caught a flight. Vietnam Airlines is a wonderful airline, by the way. World class. Highly recommended. (They will be adding SFO and LAX soon)

We arrived in to rain, rain that continued through the night. The entire population was bedecked in plastic ponchos. It looked like the entire country had been taken over by Smurfs.

The crappy weather didn't matter to me, I was just there to see my buddy Tin, who I had met last year.

The next morning I met up with Tin and spent the time catching up, pondering life and trying to stay out of the rain. We talked at length, gave each other earnest, personal advice, and, just like last year, I neglected to see any of Hue's sights. We did do a chore though: he helped me to get a train ticket from Hue up to Hanoi. A "soft sleeper", upper bunk. The fare for a "soft sleeper" ticket on the all night train up to Hanoi is about $30.

That afternoon, we sat outside the station in a sidewalk cafe drinking high octane Vietnamese coffee and smoking Vietnamese filter tips. We were in no hurry, the train was unusually late due to the holiday crunch. We chatted until my train was called for boarding. We ran through puddles with my luggage, found the right carriage and I climbed aboard. Tin shook my hand and made me promise to call him soon.

I found my compartment, found a conductor to verify that I was in the right place, but promptly got scolded and was literally pushed off the train by an angry man in a green uniform. I had boarded the wrong train, the earlier SE2 instead of the train that I had a ticket for, the SE4. I wasn't the only one who had screwed up, the ticket checkers along the way had let me pass through by mistake.

I walked back to the car park with my tail between my legs. Tin was still there, drinking coffee and smoking White Horse cigarettes. He was horrified when he saw me, but once I told him what had happened, he was mortified for making such a mistake and losing face.

It gave me a chance to drink more strong coffee and chat, so it wasn't all that bad.
The train eventually showed up, a mere hour and a half late. This time, I got on the correct train, found the correct carriage and a friendly conductor pointed out the location of my bunk.

I was convinced I was going to get thrown off of this train as well.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/joeehrlich/

Sweltering in Saigon

The Mekong Express bus took me from Phnom Penh to Ho Chi Minh City in air-conditioned comfort and with a bare minimum of delay. We were processed out of Cambodia and into Vietnam quickly, all things considered. The Viet Customs dudes seemed more efficient and snarled less than last year.

A uniformed stewardess from the bus takes care of pretty much everything for you; you leave your hotel at 0745 and arrive in HCMC at precisely 1300. The fare is supposed to be $12.00, but one pays the hotel an extra few bucks for dealing with the ticketing hassle. Well worth it, in my opinion. A tasty snack (a croissant and a chicken sandwich plus a bottle of water) is included. Cold wet wipes are handed out and the on-board TV shows bad Khmer karaoke. The bus drops you right in the backpacker district.

I got off the bus, had a quick meal of pho, then got into a taxi and went to my expat pal's house on the edge of town. Said pal lives in a new, gated expat luxury compound with hardwood floors and all mod cons. Feeling out of sorts in regards to time zones, I napped.

While he was at work the next day, I did a little bootleg-DVD shopping at the big mall in town and then returned to the safety of air conditioned comfort until the jet-lag monster hit me. One can have all sorts of plans for siteseeing lined up and then you hit the wall of sleep. Must sleep NOW. (It has been a week and I am almost over it, in another week I will have to attempt to revert back to Pacific time)

On Sunday, said pal and I went on an organized tour of the Mekong Delta. I am not a tour sort of fellow, but I have learned to recognize that being stubborn lets me see little, stubborness which turns into shame and regret. I rationalize it: I cannot be an itinerant traveler all the time, sometimes I must be a Contiki bus bunny.

The day-long tour of the Mekong included an airconditioned bus, boat rides, a tour guide, a decent lunch, some good photo ops and, as an added bonus, a collection of delightfully fawn-like Australian high school girls to flirt with. All this for US$7.00

Motodop or Motodope? You Decide.

Those who believe in intelligent design have never met my motodop.

I suppose that I could rent a small motorbike to get around Phnom Penh, but then I would have to negotiate the streets around here.

Motorbike rental is very cheap, it comes in at under $10 a day for a Honda 100 or similar. Just go over to "Lucky! Lucky!" (the market leader in scooter rental) and they will hand you a key to a shiny Chinese-made Honda step-thru motorcycle.

However, I am terrified of the prospect of riding here though; traffic rules are vague and largely ignored. Red lights and stop signs are mainly decorative. I didn't bring along my crash helmet and there is no helmet in the country big enough that would fit my 7 3/4" (62-63 cm) head. (Of course, I would be the one in a hundred that would actually wear a helmet, most here do not even own one)

Rather than negotiate the streets on my own, I hire the services of a trained professional: a "motodop". These moto taxi drivers sit in groups on every street corner; they beckon any fat foreigner who dares to walk anywhere on his own. Phnom Penh is not a large city, rides around town rarely exceed 2000 reil, or fifty cents. Even at that paltry sum, I am overpaying; call it a "stupid tourist tax".

One would think that, what with the fairly predictable destinations of the fat farang, the taxi drivers would be pretty good at getting their fares to their destinations quickly and efficiently.

One would be wrong.

The streets here are numbered and fairly straightforward with easily visible street numbers and addresses. This makes no difference at all. One rarely gets to the destination without a detour or two.

The game is played thusly. A foreigner exits a building and a handful of motodops beckon and in unison, say "Taxi, Sir?"

As there is serious competition, the bolder ones walk right over and get into your personal space, even if you insist upon walking. They then offer all sorts of suggestions and diversions, some that would make a sailor blush.

As a reasonably intelligent individual, I have come prepared with a business card from my destination. All business cards here are the same: they are made of durable plastic and have the name and address in both English and Khmer, with a fairly straightforward map on the back of the card.

The group of drivers inspect the card, huddle amongst themselves and proclaim that of course they do, in fact, know where the destination is, that they have been there many times and that they would be deeply honored to bring you there.

So you plop your butt onto the back of some strangers (now seriously overloaded) Honda bike and toodle off in the wrong direction, down the wrong side of the street with nothing but oncoming traffic aiming straight at you.

This is somewhat disconcerting, especially when nobody is yielding an inch, least of which are the enormous, shiny new Japanese-made SUVs with blacked out windows sporting NGO plates, driven by some asshole and paid for by your charity dollars.

Several blocks and a few U-turns later, the Motodop concedes defeat and pulls over curbside to consult with a new group of bored Motodops, all of whom consult the business card and map again and have vastly different ideas of which direction we should have been going in the first place.

It is said that you get what you pay for. The Phnom Penh Motodop is the exception to this rule.

Pausing in Phnom Penh

I am pausing in Phnom Penh.

It is hot here, hotter than normal, even for Cambodia at this time of year.

This stop-off is more a prelude to my vacation than anything important; I am here for some rest and relaxation and have no serious plans. The adventure starts later.

Air Asia, a Southwest Airlines/Easyjet-type airline of sorts delivered me to Phnom Penh from Bangkok on a leased 737 with no trouble and on time.

The hotel http://www.darareangsey.com/ had a familiar face waiting for me at the airport with a "Joe Ehrlich"sign.

My $13/night room has clean sheets, an air conditioner that burbles and a color TV with all the channels that I could possibly want. I catch the headlines on BBC World as I am only there in my room to sleep off a ferocious jetlag. I *did* have some chores to do, but the hotel took my chores away from me.

I needed to apply for my Vietnam visa, the hotel took care of that.

I brought along a few meters of cotton material from which to make tacky shirts, the hotel found someone who sews custom shirts for $8.00 each.

I needed someone to translate a letter for me into Khmer and then mail some photos and a newspaper clipping to a NGO in Battambang; they took care of that as well.

They did my laundry, fed me strong coffee and baguettes in the morning, plied me with Beer Lao (the best beer in Asia) in the afternoons.

All I have left to do is eat.

The Banana Bar is where I settle in every day. They have an extensive menu of French, Cambodian, Vietnamese and Continental food at embarrasingly low prices. (I highly recommend the steak for $3.99) . They have pretty girls who know my name, who have lovely smiles and are not for rent .

The Banana Bar also has a very fast internet connection with modern equipment, decent keyboards and optical mouses. For this I pay a premium; double the usual amount around town: $1.00 an hour.

With little to do but eat, drink and sleep, I did what anyone would do in my flipflops, I got myself a haircut and then went shopping.

I loaded up on DVDs at $2.00 a pop (Golden Globe winners are already in the market), treated myself to an $8.00 wristwatch and had fresh spring rolls for lunch. Then I took a nap.

Tomorrow I may whine a bit, but today I am a happy camper.

Butterflys

I haven't packed completely. I don't remember what to pack.

Although I have packed for long trips many times before, each trip is a new one; trying to remember what to bring along.

Socks and undies, some shirts and pants, a shave kit. What else? As little as possible, as I always end up with more crap than I possibly need.

It is 0500 and I am fretting about what to pack. I don't leave until Thursday, and I am fretting.

Dang.