Hanoi
Vietnam
Vietnam: Hanoi
We hopped a flight to Hanoi from Dalat. The national flights in Vietnam were quite reasonably priced we found them a whole lot more comfortable than the buses we took (the bus we took from Nha Trang to Dalat was a sleeper bus and the seats were so tiny it was hard to sit comfortably let alone lie down!!).
The northern city of Hanoi greeted us with a much more relaxed vibe than its southern sister, Ho Chi Minh City. I was immediately impressed by the smaller roads and alleys of the old city, the stalls and districts that dotted the streets lined with large trees. We could really see the French influence here as well. Like Dalat, this city had a certain European flavor to the architecture while still remaining distinctly Vietnamese.
We checked into our accommodation: “The Hanoi Culture Hotel” which put us on the 5th floor of a building with no elevator. Got our legs moving!
We budgeted one day for Hanoi. We were ready to leave Vietnam and figured 24 hours would be enough to get the basic flavor of the city before we shoved off.
Our day was nice! We saw Den Ngoc Son Temple in the middle of a lake (again: floating dead fish like in Dalat; what’s up with that?).
Winding our way through the city we ambled over to Cau Long Bien bridge and walked across, marveling at the farms in the middle of the Red River and seeming to come out of nowhere in the metropolis which abruptly ended on one side and started again on the other. There were banana trees and patches of farms for what looked like miles. Walking along the bridge was hair-raising as the pathway skirts the edge of the road and at some points the enforced concrete had crumbled away leaving gaping holes you could look through and see the river many many feet below… Yikes! I would not have gone out there had Jackson not egged me on. I’m glad I did. The views were worth it.
We set off to check out Ba Dinh Square and Ho Chi Minh’s tomb. It was nice to be somewhere with a lot of space to walk at our leisure, a nice breeze and a clear shot at the blue sky.
The meals we ate in Hanoi were strange. Walking into one place because it looked promising, we ordered chicken legs only to have a whole bunch of fried chicken feet show up. I’d had chicken feet once before at a Chinese restaurant in New York and thought it was a bit like eating a hand. This was no different except the deep-fry gave the claw a much crunchier bite. Unsure of how to eat the things (or really what to eat on them) I watched as a mother and daughter chewed on theirs. The mother would pick up a claw, delicately bite off the nails on the end of the claws and then chew away at the joints. It was super weird, but yummy. I was almost tempted to order another plate by the time we finished.
Overall, we liked Hanoi. The pace felt a little slower than the other places we’d visited in Vietnam. There felt like more to see as we walked: cracks and crevasses, people, bubbling liquids, and tons of shopping areas. I particularly liked the food market we walked past. It felt cleaner than the markets we’d seen elsewhere: not as many flies. Observing how people display food in other countries is fascinating to me. For instance: I think The States is in a small minority of countries who actually refrigerate our eggs. Meat is also something that will sit out in the open for hours without refrigeration. Vegetables are wonky, irregular and taste MUCH better than in the USA. There is no such thing as “organic” or “locally grown” in many parts of the world because it is obvious that these things are all of the above.
I’ll miss how unapologetic the food markets are. I like that what you see is pretty much what you get.
We had an early morning flight to Hong Kong and I couldn’t wait to get my mouth around some dumplings.
Vietnam Camera Roll – Part 1
Ho Chi Minh – Nha Trang – Dalat
Vietnam: Dalat
If you only have time to go to one place in Vietnam, I’d highly recommend Dalat.
After a 3-hour journey through the mountains, Dalat greeted us with cooler temperatures, lower humidity and warm sunshine. The air felt cleaner and spring was alive and well in this town.
Dalat is known to some at the “Honeymoon Capital” of Vietnam and I can see why. There are things to do and see that would be a great way to spend a honeymoon. Also, it felt like the tourists were sticking to the beaches and didn’t have much time for this pit-stop. All the better for us!
Originally the French aristocrats’ playground, Dalat was a place for the wealthy elites to retire to in order to escape the heat and noise of Saigon. It’s no small town now, but some of the French architecture still remains and the place felt distinctly different (dare I say: more European?) from the other parts of Southern Vietnam we’d toured on the trip.
Jackson and I checked into the “Sleep in Dalat” Hostel located on a tiny street that took us a while to find: even Google Maps was baffled. The room was nice and in a good location and cost about $30USD/night for our own room. Breakfast included.
On the recommendation of Nicole, a friend I knew in college, and who is also a travel aficionado who had been in Vietnam for a while and was incredibly generous with her tips and advice for Vietnam, Jackson and I decided to check out “Crazy House.”
“Crazy House” is a hotel, but I think calling it that would limit what it actually is. It’s a work of art, really. Dang Viet Nga is the architect and based her insane building on Antoni Gaudi’s style of architecture as found in Barcelona, Spain. I think this building is more like Gaudi, Tim Burton and Salvator Dali all got together and had a crazy marathon of designing based on what their interpretation of what a tree should look like if the tree was larger than life and fed nothing but nightmares and the holiday-themed fever dreams of little children.
Does that give you an idea of what this place is like? Because pictures won’t do it justice.
If you ever get a chance: go see it. Tickets were 40,000 Dong (a little less than $2USD) or you could stay there for about $35-70USD a night. There were a bunch of Russian and Chinese tour groups streaming around the place, but even that couldn’t ruin what was a truly wonderful trip.
The next day we booked a tour with “Mr. Rot’s Secret Tour” on the advice of Nicole. By this point, Felix (our German firefighter friend from Nha Trang) showed up again. Deciding he was done with the beaches in Vietnam he joined us in Dalat and agreed to go on the tour with us. I can’t go into too much detail about what happened. I can tell you that it was life-changing. In a nutshell: Mr. Rot’s nephew who called himself “Jessica” (LOL) took us on a relatively touristy route through the mountains of Dalat. I enjoyed seeing some of the markets and learning about customs of the locals. The second half of the tour is where Mr. Rot showed up. There were 7 of us having lunch when this flamboyant, hard-as-a-rock, bald man shows up and serenaded us in Vietnamese. He immediately primped and fluffed the girls’ hair and gave Jackson an massage. Then he took us to a secret place and was our guide through a really wonderful evening.
After the tour, Felix leaned in to tell us that he was glad no one had told him about what happened on the tour. “It was nice to not have any expectations.” He said. Jackson and I agreed. I think every tour is different and were I to go into what happened it would ruin some of the magic of the experience. Go. Do it. Or, if not, send me an email or call me and I’ll tell you what happened!
Tickets were 800,000 Dong (about $35USD each) and the tour lasted all day. We were picked up at the “Pink Villa” Hotel. You can book a ticket directly with Mr. Rot.
On our last day in Dalat, Jackson and I were having a late breakfast at the hostel when we struck up a conversation with another American couple from Austin, Texas. Ayla, a social worker, and Benton, who works in marketing, invited us to join them as they went to check out the “Valley of Love.” Why not?
“The Valley of Love” further proved the reason why Dalat is considered a honeymoon capital. It’s a sprawling garden of flowers, animal figures, and heart-shaped shrubs. The theme is love and it shows. It was a 15-minute taxi ride from downtown Dalat which cost about 55,000 Dong ($2USD). The tickets to the park were 30,000 Dong each (about $1.50USD). We spent a good couple hours wandering around. It was nice to be in a park with trees, quiet and a place to relax. The 4 of us chatted about current events, marriage, being a couple while travelling, and how ridiculous the thousands of plastic animal statues were. Is a field of pink flamingos meant to be an aphrodisiac?
After lunch, Jackson and I took a walk around town touring the lake as we digested and talked about what life will be like once we’re back in The States (a popular subject between the two of us). The lake in Dalat is weird. I’m not certain, but I think people dump bags of fish into the lake in the hopes of gaining good karma or for wishes. Whatever the reasoning, the lake is filled with dead fish. It’s disgusting. At one point, a woman got off a motorcycle and dumped a bag of what looked like goldfish into the lake. I looked sideways at Jackson and wondered how many minutes it would take for the goldfish to either get eaten or go belly-up.
We chanced on the “City of Flowers” which is a large botanic garden that had a strange looking entrance. Intrigued, we stopped in (for 10,000 Dong a person~ roughly 50 cents USD) for a look. This had nothing on “The Valley of Love”. The flowers were nice, but we were tired. Sitting near a green, soupy-looking lake with swan paddle-boats available for rent, Jackson and I agreed that we were ready to leave Vietnam. Dalat was nice, but almost 3 weeks in Vietnam and I felt bone-tired. Maybe it was the constant traffic? The polluted lakes? The fear of more food poisoning? The shitty WiFi? All of the above? I was looking forward to a new chapter.
Felix invited us for one last drink at the bar called “100 Roofs” which felt like a spin-off of “Crazy House.” The bar had a million different rooms, staircases, and painted creatures everywhere. It was really dark, a huge fire hazard and anyone could get lost in there. I loved it. Again, pictures can’t do it justice, but watching Jackson climb through holes and then getting the much larger Felix to do so as well was a memory I won’t forget easily! This place was really worth the visit.
We had a great time in Dalat, overall. I was looking forward to leaving Vietnam, however. Felt like we needed to leave on a “high note” after Dalat.
Vietnam: Nha Trang
Загорелый на пляже!
If you can read that you would have done better than we did in Nha Trang, which was FULL of Russian tourists.
Overall, Nha Trang was alright. Compared to the beach in Phu Quoc I’d say it was a little more beautiful because of the mountains ringing the bay. The beach was dirtier, but less crowded. You win some, you lose some.
The biggest highlight of Nha Trang was meeting Felix. Felix is a firefighter from Cologne, Germany who was travelling around Vietnam on his own. He’s energetic, inquisitive, has a strong German accent and loved to tell us about his job (I’ve never gotten a chance to talk to a firefighter before: fascinating!). He was staying at the same guest house we had booked. When we first met him he was chatting with a little girl named Linh who was the daughter of the owner of the guesthouse. I knew the minute we started talking with him we’d be good friends.
Inviting Felix along, Jackson and I went to the beach where the 3 of us talked about world events. We compared notes about Vietnam and our travels. Felix seemed disappointed in the beach at Nha Trang. He admitted to searching for the Shangri-La of backpackers: the (almost) untouched beach nestled in a remote and beautiful surrounding. Honestly: as long as we weren’t getting swindled I was enjoying myself. Although, as soon as I thought that a man came up to us and demanded that we pay for our beach chairs (even though we already had). Thanks, Vietnam.
Having met an American couple in Saigon who was in Nha Trang as well, Jackson and I ambled over to the downtown area of Nha Trang, an hour and a half walk from our home stay, one evening.
The traffic in Vietnam is legendary. There are millions of scooters and motorbikes. They drive with a set of rules that make sense only to the locals. What’s truly remarkable about the unbelievable amount of motorbikes is it causes the traffic to become liquid, parting around a group of people crossing the road like a stream around a rock. Cars can be blocky and act like dead wood in a river. To cross the roads in Vietnam is to literally plunge in. There are traffic lights, sometimes, but mostly it’s a matter of walking confidently across the street and making no sudden movements, a little bit like swimming.
The walk to the center of Nha Trang was filled with traffic then punctuated by moments of quiet as we wound our way through the warren of residential streets leading to the beach. We got a lot of stares in Vietnam. I didn’t blame anyone, we do look really different. Also, what are two white people doing in the middle of a residential area? They probably would have asked us in Russian, if they could. Maybe they did? We couldn’t have responded, anyway.
Our American couple suggested a burger joint. Sure. Walking past the barrage of Russian script we came to our destination: “Bogosov Burger and Steaks.” The American couple was from New York City. Hernan was originally Argentinian and Latanya’s family lives in Georgia. They’re an interracial couple who decided to quit their jobs, leave their apartment and dog and travel the world for 9 months. Badass. I knew we’d get on with them when, in Saigon, I leaned over and asked if the pizza they were eating was any good. Hernan shrugged and said “It’s aight.” Good answer. We ordered a large.
Enjoying our western-style meal, I loudly exclaimed at one point that I was looking forward to heading into Europe. After describing the stares the locals were giving us on the way to the restaurant I said I was looking forward to being somewhere I fit in again. “You know that feeling when you blend in and no one stares at you?” I asked.
“No.” Latanya said.
…oh.
Reality Check: interracial couples live a different life than I do. Check your privilege, Natalie. I felt terrible. I apologized. Latanya very warmly accepted and seemed no worse for the wear. “But, is it at times difficult for you two to travel as an interracial couple?” I asked. Hernan explained that in South East Asia all the tourists are so different that the locals would stare no matter what. It was really the worst in places like South America, Europe and The States.
I admitted my ignorance and expressed my frustrations at the world. As a white couple travelling, Jackson and I really have it good. There are a lot of people out there trying to live their lives and society won’t let them do it comfortably. Damn. I’m really really sorry. It’s not fair. Everyone should feel like they belong somewhere without a side of judgement.
Back at the home-stay, Linh and I became fast friends. Her English was good for an 8-year-old and she was eager to ask me a ton of questions and speak. “What’s your favorite color?” “How old are you?” “Do you like ice cream?” I found her extremely charming, especially when she’d comment on how tall I was. I’d put my elbow on her head and say “I’m not tall! You’re just short!” She even taught me how to count to ten in Vietnamese which I promptly forgot.
Saying goodbye to our hosts (and heaving a huge sigh of relief because we didn’t have to sleep on the HARDEST bed I have ever slept on) Jackson and I caught a bus to Dalat.
Vietnam: Phu Quoc
This island off the coast of Cambodia was a perfect introduction to Vietnam for us. The small town of Duong Dong had a lively night market, tons of great places to eat and great Vietnamese coffee!
A moment, if you please, for me to indulge you in the rapturous mana that is Vietnamese coffee. It is velvety, thick, with chocolate undertones and a sweet aftertaste; this drink is strong and can be served hot or cold. If made correctly on a hot day, there will be a ton of ice allowing the drinker quite a while of sipping on the mixture, each taste not being diluted with water, but enriched by its presence. This is a drink one can experience in expensive coffee houses, a mother’s kitchen or at a tarped food stall- regardless, it is luscious.
Ok, so back to Phu Quoc…
The beaches, or the western coastline, were crowded with tourists and hotels. The sand was smooth and golden, and there were palm trees and blue skies, but we weren’t too blown away. We’re spoiled. Fiji ruined us.
It was nice to sit under the shade of a palm tree and read. The days did get very hot, however, and at around 35C (95F) being on the sand felt unbearable. We’d amble back to our room and vegetate in the A/C, totally aware of our beautiful, luxurious surroundings and giving no fucks.
One afternoon, after a particularly hot sunning, Jackson and I decided to get a Bahn Mi before getting back to the hotel.
Then all hell broke loose.
I was the sickest I have ever been. It felt like every orifice of my body was bailing fluid. For hours I was wracked with cramps, stabbing pain in my belly culminating in multiple trips to the toilet. You know that feeling when you hug a toilet bowl like it’s your mother? That was me.
I was a wreck. Jackson was patient and sweet, even leaving the room to eat a hamburger. The lucky bastard didn’t get so much as a bad burp from the lunch we’d had. We ate the same thing!
To comfort myself, I’d go on facebook and instagram and imagine myself as someone else, until I saw a picture of someone’s food online. Noooo! I don’t want to see a picture of your steak and fries! I’m going to puke again!
I was out of commission for a good two days. Ugh. Our loose dreams of maybe renting a motorbike to see another part of the island evaporated like the cold sweat off my forehead. Oh, Phu Quoc: why?
Getting food poisoning is a sure bet with me. Whenever I have traveled some form of gut rot has reared its ugly head. To not get some type of bad-food experience in Asia is to be lucky, indeed. I knew it was only a matter of time.
The great thing about terrible poisoning is that it makes for great stories later. Sitting around a low, plastic table lit by a naked light bulb on a warm, humid night in some foreign town makes a perfect setting for swapping funny shit-your-pants stories among seasoned travelers. A few beers deep and the belly laughs really begin as knowing nods abound.
So, yeah. I got really sick. But it was time for Ho Chi Minh and new adventures. Would I recommend a trip to Phu Quoc? Eh. It was alright. You’ll find better beaches in Thailand.
