Still in Vietnam

Laurie Weed's Portfolio Travel Writing Asia Blog Index

Asia Update 7: Still in Vietnam....

September 2002

Our unpleasant introduction to Nha Trang was a forewarning we should have heeded. The “most popular beach resort in Vietnam” turns out to be most popular with hawkers. The beach itself is out, unless you can withstand nonstop badgering from every imaginable type of tout and beggar. Stripped of all vegetation, the long, flat town is scorching hot during the day and only slightly more bearable after dark. Charmless rows of duplicate concrete hotels, bland restaurants, and empty bars line the streets, but I refuse to get back on a bus and planning the next move will take a few days.

Nha Trang boasts 74 small islands off the coast. A boat trip to see them is “highly recommended” by the guidebook, so even though we usually avoid the generic tourist attractions, we decide to check it out. After booking tickets for the infamous “Green Hat Boat Tour”, we overhear ominous tales of 20 or 30 drunken tourists packed onto a small boat. To our relief, just 10 passengers show up and they don’t appear to be the raucous partying type. The tour program sounds a little corny and exaggerated, especially after we arrive at the pier and board a gutted fishing boat with a homemade deck slapped on top. Nevertheless, it’s a cheap means to visit the islands, swim, snorkel, and avoid the harassment on the beach.

Although I tried to keep my expectations low, the islands still disappoint: 74 arid, uninhabited, burnt-brown sod lumps dot the coastline, completely deforested except for the dead grass. The crew drops anchor at the first one and shoos everybody into the water so they can get down to the real purpose of the boat tour: betting on card games. The water is clear and calm, but the coral is just as brown and lifeless as the land above, and the fish have understandably moved on. At the designated hour, we’re hauled off to the next identical island, and the “seafood buffet” is laid out in several dozen cheap plastic bowls, to make it appear lavish. While the food is not terrible, it’s not good either and I’m generally a little suspicious of seafood that has been lying around in a warm boat hold all morning.

At yet another indistinguishable island, we’re ushered off the boat again, this time onto windswept land where we’re charged a fee for the pleasure of disembarking, and another fee to repose in the flyspecked lounge chairs near the water. After an hour of swatting bugs and watching people foolishly attempt water sports in the overcrowded bay, we’re boated to yet another desert atoll (though for all we know, we’ve circled the same one all day.) The staff prods us off the boat with artificial cheer,

“Time for the floating bar! Everybody in the water for swimming and enjoying the floating bar! Mama Hanh’s famous floating bar, just like the pictures...Get out.”

The last thing I want to do is relinquish my nap spot on the shaded deck and paddle about under the blazing sun, but the crew doggedly insists. They toss a decrepit Styrofoam cooler into the water and the youngest crewmember drags it around by a rope, serving up Dixie cups of some murky local swill. An ancient PA system cranks out the inevitable Bob Marley tunes and long bouts of static. During the frequent dead-air periods, the bobbing bartender warbles the only English song he knows,

“We wish you a Merry Christmas, We wish you a Merry Christmas”,

while we drift lethargically around the middle of nowhere. This would turn out to be the high point of the Green Hat island tour.

If we had not escaped from the Open Tour terrorists, our next destination would have been Dalat, in the Central Highlands. A trip to the mountains sounds refreshing, but unfortunately, the only way to get there from Nha Trang is by bus -- no longer an option. Instead, I buy plane tickets to Saigon. Not because I feel disposed to visit another soiled, sprawling Asian city, but because it’s the only option from here by plane.

Saigon is a colossal mess; it makes Bangkok look sedate. Hordes of motorbikes, trucks, taxis, and cyclos teem in every direction, churning out coagulated black haze and ear-piercing noise. Thankfully, we find a clean, cheap hotel that doesn’t bother trying to market anything else, but every time we venture out, we’re stalked by ravenous transport predators that have almost picked the waterhole clean. To my surprise, I find Saigon much less interesting than the capital city in the north. While it’s less formal and more westernized than Hanoi, to me it presents no personality, no culture. Foreign businesses, skyscrapers, and retail shops abound, but the museums are pitiable, the streets are filthy and the river is an open sewer line. This is the first place I’ve been that consistently grieves my iron stomach.

After a few days in Saigon, Craig decides to use one of the leftover Open Tour tickets and take a bus up to Dalat. I remain in Saigon, sick and getting sicker of Vietnam. I really don’t want to be the stereotypical Ugly American, but every time I set foot out of the hotel my best intentions are worn down to nothing inside of an hour. I can’t have a moment’s peace in this country; transport guys swarm after me on the street, babbling like deranged auctioneers. “No” doesn’t dissuade them, it just makes them more determined to herd me into the taxi, the cyclo, or the motorbike and fleece me. The motorbike guys are the worst because they can turn on a dime and block my path with their vehicles, or follow me down the narrow alleys. My interactions with them turned vicious more than once – I swear it was self-defense. I try to explore the city on foot but my nerves are worn thin. I can’t tolerate the filth, the heat, the pushing and shoving, the infernal blaring horns and the nagging...the nagging...the nagging...

I have to get out of this place, but I’m too dazed to contemplate my next move. Craig returns from Dalat recharged by the cooler weather and relative absence of hassle. He’s met another traveler who is gung-ho to explore the back roads of Cambodia with him. I can’t conceive of going immediately to a place with even less infrastructure than Vietnam. He hops on the bus to the Mekong, where he’ll boat all the way into Cambodia and meet up with his new traveling companion in Phnom Penh. A few hours later, I fly up to Dalat, determined to see it before I leave this whacked-out country forever.

Dalat is indeed cooler, and beautiful from the air – miles of lush farmland and leafy hills. The hassle factor is lower here, though my personal transport curse lives on. I wander around for a day or two and conclude the food is terrible, the sights are lame, and there’s nothing to do. I realize I am too burned out and exhausted to enjoy or appreciate anything at this point. Even the absurd, exaggerated tackiness of Dalat fails to amuse me. A favorite Vietnamese honeymoon spot, the town proudly displays a number of manmade attractions, including swan-shaped paddleboats on the lake, a miniature amusement park draped in Christmas lights, and even a scaled down Eiffel tower. If the Vietnamese have made kitsch an art form, (as many visitors will attest,) Dalat is their life-sized piece-de-resistance. The soft rain, steep hills and winding streets remind me of San Francisco, and I realize: THAT is where I want to go next...Home. Within 24 hours I am back in Saigon for a final day of Transport War and mind-boggling aggravations, (such as an airport employee hijacking my passport for ransom,) and then on to Bangkok, Taipei transit, and then Home.

I have loved San Francisco since the first time I saw it 10 years ago, but until now I never noticed that the air in Northern California is sparkling clean, the drivers reasonably sane, and the people endearingly polite. By the time I’ve adjusted to using sidewalks again, not to mention traffic lights and orderly queues, my stomach is feeling dandy and I can eat anything I desire: good wine, freshly baked bread, gourmet cheese, real ice cream...Mmmmm. As the pulverizing jet lag wears off, I’m finally free of all rashes, bumps, bites, bruises and fungi for the first time in 5 months. I am dazzled that I get to choose from a myriad of live music options IN ENGLISH, buy any book I want, get a decent haircut, and watch a movie that isn’t overdubbed and super-titled in four languages. I find new appreciation for hot showers, clean towels, and San Francisco taxi drivers.

And so, the Asia Update ends for now. Perhaps to be continued, when sanity has been restored. Meanwhile, see you in San Francisco...