26 posts tagged “travel”
On that note, I know my Vietnam trip was 4 months ago and I really should have stopped talking about it by now, but... I haven't travelled since then. I feeling like it's now about time to take another trip (somewhere easier on my nerves this time), but I can't use my savings for a trip now that I have to save for a future house and whatnot. Which is why I've just spent a week lounging around at home to clear my leave.
In fact I don't even know if the Russian and I will be going on a honeymoon this year. Maybe a tiny one, to like, Thailand, IF we can afford it. Unless we don't manage to find a house at all by the time we get married, then... who knows. Chile, Alaska, Russia or Portugal? I would just die to go to one of these places this year. If not, well, hopefully our marriage will last long enough for us to visit these places together. That would be a mighty long time, though. I'm not sure if we really can last...
Ok yeah that's not funny, but that's because you weren't at our marriage course. The instructor that we disliked the most asked each person in the room, "How long do you think your marriage will last?"
Well, he asked everyone except the Russian, because the Russian was fast asleep.
Even after the first TEN people said, "Err... forever? I hope?" or "Until one of us dies" or something to that extent, the guy still went on asking each person to answer his fucked up stupid question. So I had to answer his fucked up stupid question about how long I felt my marriage would last to the catatonic man next to me. (I said "Until death, if everything goes as planned.")
When the Russian woke up, I told him about it. He said, "Really? Why didn't you wake me up?"
Anyway we then joked about what a good answer would be.
"How long do you think your marriage will last?"
"I don't know... probably not very long. I'm not in this for the long-term."
I should be sleeping now because I have to wake up early but my brain is still quite active. I was lying in bed just a while ago trying to let my thoughts run their course and into the darkness but instead I ended up with the urge to write. I was thinking first about my snoring, and then about how I always worry that I'll wake up my hotel roommate(s) with my snoring when I travel. Xai complained about it one night in Hanoi. The Russian is already used to it although it wakes him up quite often. In KL, Mel said she didn't hear me snore at all, but I don't know if she was just trying to save me some embarrassment.
Then of course I thought about travelling, and the first thing I thought about travelling was Vietnam. I suddenly remembered Raph.ael the Australian who gave us too much to pay for his share of the cab ride, and whom we bumped into again while contemplating the strangest hot dog sandwich in the world at the pit stop between Hanoi and Hai Phong.
Then I thought about that cab ride. How we dropped Raph.ael off first at Hang Bac, which looked like a really happening street to be on, and then finally got off at our own street, Hang Ga, and saw it for the first time with not a little twinge of disappointment. Well, I don't know for sure about the Russian but I was disappointed. There wasn't really a buzz, or any cool shops, just the usual loud honking and hawkers selling bamboo, household items and unappetising street food.
Hanoi was not a surprise in the way one hopes all of one's travel destinations will be. It was more of a shock. The unexpected cacophony of traffic, the nerve-wracking unfriendliness of the streets and sidewalks, especially to people like us who wanted just to walk. The reign of motorcycles here was something I was not prepared for, nor made aware of during my research and planning of the trip. How can something called so charmingly "The Old Quarter" be like this?
Vietnam was... difficult. I don't recall the trip without fondness but much of my recollections are overwhelmed with fear and anxiety -- and I'm not even talking about the end part with the hospital. I just mean the tripping over motorcycle wheels and balancing by the side of open drains and, of course, the road crossings.
That first day that we got to Hanoi and dropped off at Hang Ga, I was so tired and scared of the Hanoi outside that I didn't really feel like leaving the room. Yet I hated the room too, and I didn't want to stay in for long. I found the dilemma so exhausting. Not that I'm used to luxury -- we stayed at similar types of lodgings in Laos and Cambodia -- but the combination of the hostile exterior and the uncomfortable shelter was enough to drive me close to homesickness. I was just grateful I had the Russian with me, someone whose fleshy bit between the shoulder and the chest I could rest my head on to regain some sense of security.
But that's the kind of situation that brings people together. When Xai arrived the next morning and said, "I don't like this place," and when I asked him, "You mean this hostel or Hanoi?" and he said, "Hanoi," it was that kind of moment where you know you're not alone and that for the next four days or so, someone else will be cowering by the side of the road with you, refusing to cross.
On that note, I've also just discovered the Global Nomads Group, which produces short films about life in different parts of the world. It's like the Discovery Channel for people with short attention spans. I wish I had found out about them sooner, because one of their films is...
I don't know why but their audio levels are really low, so you really have to turn up your speakers. In case you still can't hear what the guy is saying while crossing the road, it's "Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus."
Their YouTube channel is here.
So much for never writing again.
It's occurred to me that the last time I felt blissfully happy, without a care in the world, was on the second day of our Halong Bay jaunt. It was morning, we'd just woken up, I opened the door of our tiny room on the boat and the first thing I saw was Xai's smiling face, and the second thing I saw was that there was a giant cliff right in front of me, and we were sailing by it.
And Xai said "I was just about to knock on your door!"
And it hit me again, I am on a boat and I just woke up to a sea breeze and a giant cliff passing by and my friend Xai whom I haven't seen in a year. It was kind of magical.
That was two days before my grandmother was hospitalised, three days before the Russian almost died (such a simple shorthand, that is, "almost died", which I'm really overusing to the point of meaninglessness) and about a month before I started going mad.
We're both slightly depressed, two people who are supposed to be pre-nuptially, annoyingly happy. Well I suppose it's as auspicious a sign as any that I'd rather be miserable with him than anyone else.
I don't understand why pasting the embed html here doesn't work. Just click on the link to watch the video of Xai, me and the Russian on the boat.
As you can tell I am too lazy to finish my travelogue but rest assured that nothing significant or exciting happened that I haven't already told you about.
I never ever feel like a travel connoisseur because given any random number of Singaporeans, I am usually the least travelled one among them. But the first line of this article makes me feel so good about my travel cred:
Vietnam and Cambodia are so 2007.
And then it goes on to mention Wat Phu -- and I've been there!
(Despite the first line, Vietnam is still mentioned as #48 on the list of places to visit in 2008, so don't feel too bad if you haven't been there.)
Also -- Lisbon, anyone?
I got the link from Xai. He's been blogging, y'all. Send him and his liver some love.
The Russian: Do you go up to attractive Hmong girls and ask them, "Do you want to do radio?" And then they say, "Yes," and you bring them to your house and you say, "Ok, time for a mic test."?
Xai: "Can you take off your clothes?" No, no, I don't do that.
Xai arrived today, while we were sleeping. We got a call from the reception to tell us that we had a friend looking for us. Seeing Xai again after one year was really good, what can I say? He looked the same, sounded the same, as quiet as ever.
One of the first things he said to me was, "This place is scary... I don't like it."
"What, do you mean Hanoi?" I asked.
"Yes."
"I know! The traffic is nuts, right?!"
He'd just travelled a day to meet us, with stops in between where all he ate was pho, because that was the only thing he knew how to order in Vietnamese. The very first thing we had to do then, was find some breakfast that was not pho.
After washing up we headed outside and ducked into a nearby café selling some good old American breakfast and had french toast and scrambled eggs and coffee. After that cup I promised myself that it would be the last time I had Vietnamese coffee on the trip. It nearly knocked me out with the trembling and the acid cramps.
We then took a cab to the Ho Chi Minh Museum. It was only when we got there that I realised that Uncle Ho's museum, mausoleum, stilt house and the One Pillar Pagoda were all enclosed within the same compound. But we couldn't visit all of them today. Most of Hanoi's tourist attractions are closed on Monday.
So we took a look at the One Pillar Pagoda first, just a cute little temple on a giant round pillar. Xai asked the Russian to take a photo of me and him. The Russian asked, "Ok what do you want in the shot?"
Xai said, "The focus is two faces." He pointed at his face and my face. I couldn't stop laughing.
Then we walked over to the museum, enjoying the fact that we didn't have to brave traffic.
The museum was really something. A mixture of art and history, what you might perhaps call "propaganda". But this was really charming propaganda. Uncle Ho's life and ideals were laid out in artistic installations filled with symbolism and meaning that we couldn't parse, because we were too skint to get a museum guide. For example, according to the guidebook, the installation of a car crashed into a wall was supposed to signify American military failure in Vietnam. That particular car model had been a commercial failure when it was launched in the US.
By the end of our walk around the museum, it was lunch time, and therefore closing time. We had to leave the compound. We walked a very long way, down the long, wide boulevard past the mausoleum, which was so peaceful and quiet that Xai said, "Hmm Hanoi is not so bad after all." Then we walked down a street past some government buildings, and eventually we stumbled upon the botanic garden.
We went in, walked around, took a lot of photos and rested for a while. It's quite amazing how even in the very depths of the garden, you can still hear the traffic blaring.
Then we went back out and continued onwards. We walked and walked and walked to a temple whose name I've already forgotten. I'm really not a temple person. Then we walked some more, looking for lunch. After a long time we reached the St Joseph Cathedral. It was closed, but nobody was around to stop us from entering. So we did, and took some more photos. The church building itself seemed abandoned and boarded up but there were apartments within the church compound that were inhabited. There was also a very large dog that scared me and Xai.
After the church we decided to stop at a cafe just two doors away for lunch. We were too tired to go further. But it was only after we sat down and got the menus that we realised the cafe didn't serve food, and the waiter and cafe owner didn't speak any English. A lot of hand gesturing took place. We motioned that we wanted to eat. The waiter nodded. We asked for ice tea. This was tricky. We tried out various sounds and gestures but he only seemed to understand what we wanted when the Russian hugged himself and went "Brrr". He nodded enthusiastically in comprehension, but even then we were afraid that he thought we'd meant we were feeling cold, and needed hot tea. But he got it right.
Then he gestured for Xai to follow him somewhere. All three of us stood up but he motioned for me and the Russian to sit back down. Xai warily got up from the table and said, "If I don't come back in ten minutes, please look for me."
He took Xai two doors down to a small restaurant, where Xai had to pick out food for us. We each got a plate of rice, fish, tofu and vegetables. It was unpalatable. The fish was thick with bones and the vegetables were impossible to chew, much less swallow. Xai said, "Ok tonight we'll have a nice dinner."
After lunch we carried on walking, past the citadel and on to the Temple of Literature. As always, the Russian spent the most time scrutinising every detail of the temple. I walked really fast once through and sat down at the end. Xai too, didn't seem like much of a temple guy, or maybe he was just tired. We spent a lot of time taking photos of each other while the Russian lagged behind looking at things.
After the temple we took a break at KOTO Cafe, which trains underprivileged teenagers to become waiters and cooks. We had fries and dessert and all kinds of shakes. Man we were exhausted. It doesn't sound like much with me saying "we walked here and we walked there" but really, we walked a lot. That day, we walked about 7 hours in all.
Then, because we were so tired, we took a cab to Dong Xuan market. It was called a night market, yet when we got there, at 5 pm, it was already closing. So we just walked through it and left. We got into another cab and went back to our guesthouse. I can't really remember why we did this. Or even if we did? Did we walk from Dong Xuan to Hoan Kiem?
All I remember is that after the market, it got dark quickly and we spent a lot of time walking - some more- in the Old Quarter. We did some shopping. At Hang Bac street, I got myself a t-shirt with a Communist propaganda drawing. Xai tried one on too but decided not to get it because the sleeves didn't fit. (The next day he would change his mind and before we went home I bought it for him. I still haven't mailed it to him yet though.)
We also came across lots of DVD shops. A DVD in Hanoi costs 1.50 to 3 Singapore dollars. Xai and I each bought a few.
Then I came across a shop selling embroidered stuff, you know, like tablecloths and quilts and shit. My mother and aunt had given me a long shopping list of embroidered things to buy in Vietnam, and this was the first shop I'd seen selling the stuff, so I thought I might as well get it over with now. But I ended up feeling really resentful. All her things cost 200 US dollars. And my debit card wouldn't work, probably because I was broke, so I had to use the Russian's credit card. And the stuff was really, really heavy, (2 tablecloths, a table runner, 2 placemat sets and a fucking queen sized quilt cover) and Xai insisted on carrying it for me. I was so pissed off at that point at how the stupid shopping list was causing inconveniences for everyone.
What made it worse was that when I told my aunt about how much it all cost (because, as usual, my mother wasn't responding), she said, "Oh no pls don't buy I got mine in Saigon for 8 dollars."
My mum hadn't given me a budget nor any instructions on where to find her tablecloths, nor any indication of how much she was expecting to spend on these items, so I was REALLY pissed off then that I might have spent the Russian's money on nothing.
The Russian pointed out that all that stuff probably wouldn't be able to fit in my one luggage bag together with my clothes, so when we got to Hoan Kiem, I bought another bag. This time, a Roxy gym bag, for 16 Singapore dollars. Not too bad, eh?
After all that shopping, it was time to fulfill Xai's wish for a nice dinner after our accidental streetside lunch. The boys chose La Salsa, a French restaurant at a slightly swanky area. Of course, our Lonely Planet was outdated so all the prices listed in the book were half of what the food actually cost, so we were kind of stunned when we saw the menu.
"We don't live here. We don't ever have to come back to Hanoi again. We can leave now, we don't have to be embarrassed," I said.
But the boys were steadfast in upholding their pride, so we stayed.
The Russian ate a rabbit and Xai had pork, but I can't remember what I had myself. But it was delicious, a really good meal. Considering the price of the meal, we skipped dessert.
We returned to our guesthouse after dinner, and were shown to our new room. I had initially only booked one night at the guesthouse because Xai was supposed to meet us on Day 3, but he was delayed a day so we had to stay an extra night at the guesthouse. But since they had other guests coming in and wanting our original room, they had to move us to a new room.
This new room was cleaner than the first one. That was great. What was not so great was the service. Xai wanted to use one of the internet terminals at the lobby but both were being used by two Vietnamese guys, obviously friends of the staff, who were playing an MMORPG (online role-playing game). When Xai asked if he could use the computer for a while, the guy manning the reception told him to wait 5 minutes. Xai waited half an hour before he got to use the terminal.
Another thing that was not so great was the fact that the room wouldn't allow us to sleep. It was on the fourth floor, just below the power generator, and every 2 minutes (I'm not exaggerating), you would hear a loud BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP go off for about 30 seconds (again, not exaggerating).
Even before we went to sleep, while we were watching TV, the Russian was saying things like, "If that thing goes off all night I will go insane." But I pooh-poohed it, thinking that it wouldn't go off all night and that even if it did, it wasn't that loud.
Wow when I am wrong, I am SO WRONG.
The Russian and I didn't sleep a wink all night. Xai did though, he was just that exhausted. For me, I would be drifting off and starting to enter a dream, and I'd feel light and happy and at peace when suddenly BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
Needless to say we were really looking forward to Halong Bay the next morning.
Well really not much happened today. The Russian and I took a Pacific Airlines flight to Hanoi at 10 am. To board, we had to take a shuttle bus from the gate to the plane. On the bus we made friends with Raphael, a middle-aged Australian guy travelling alone. He'd stayed at Luan Vu in Ho Chi Minh City too, and we'd actually seen each other at the guesthouse that very morning during breakfast.
On the bus, when the Russian and I got on, the only space we had for standing was right in front of Raphael's seat and that's how we got to talking. He initiated the conversation, asking us where we were from. When I said Singapore, he said, "Yeah I noticed you were reading an English book this morning." After a bit of talking we made plans to take a cab from Hanoi airport into the city centre.
The seats on the plane were assigned, so we sat apart from Raphael. Instead we sat next to a Vietnamese woman with an infant. Fortunately he was quite well-behaved. The mother, however, kept waking me up from my sleep. She tapped on my arm every once in a while asking me to do things for her, through hand gestures, like pick up her son's cap from the bag on the floor or buckle up her baby carrier. Perhaps she didn't understand the concept of flight attendants.
Once on land, we caught up with Raphael again and looked around for a cab. But then we realised that Pacific Airlines provided a free bus into the Hanoi city centre, so we took that instead. On the bus with us were a group of 6 Spanish-speaking teens, talking loudly throughout the 45-minute ride.
Our first impression of Hanoi was really, wow. We drove in on a smooth, clean highway, supposedly one of the most advanced highways in Southeast Asia. And from the elevated vantage point of that highway we looked down upon beautiful homes clustered in sprawling neighbourhoods. Two- and three-storey houses in yellows and greens and blues in all manner of architectural styles, all charming. It was so pretty we started talking about having a holiday home there. There was the Red River, unpolluted as far as we could see. We also saw a Singapore-Vietnam industrial zone.
But then suddenly the highway gave way to the tight roads of the city centre and immediately we were back in reality, back on level ground. Sure, Hanoi's buildings were older and prettier than Ho Chi Minh City's, but the traffic was worse! The roads were narrower, infrastructure that was meant for bicycles and trishaws, not motorbikes and cars. The cables drooped lower from the electric poles in thicker, more menacing bunches.
Once we got off the bus it was Phnom Penh all over again. Taxi drivers crowded around the bus demanding that we take their cab. After we grabbed our bags, one driver attached himself to us, asking us where we wanted to go. I asked if he had a meter. He said no.
Ok then, I said, and walked away.
Immediately he ran after us and said, yes, yes, I have meter.
"Well wasn't that funny how he suddenly realised he had a meter?" said Raphael.
Raphael was staying at a guesthouse at Hang Bac Street. We were at Hang Ga. Both were in the Old Quarter. Raphael was dropped off first and without really looking at the meter, he gave us some money. I didn't count it either but after he got off I realised he'd gven us almost the full cost of the taxi fare.
We got off at our Thuy Lam Guesthouse, which Sur.yani had recommended. Already, the location didn't seem as good as Raphael's spot. Hang Bac had been filled with restaurants, cafés and souvenir shops. Hang Ga had a shop selling bamboo, a pharmacist and grocery stores and street stalls. Nothing that was really relevant to us. It was only when consulting a map did we realise we were at the northern edge of the Old Quarter, not as touristy as the centre.
This meant that we were getting a full immersion into local life, which was good, I suppose. But it also meant a fucking hell of a lot more stress when trying to look for food (my Vietnamese friend told me there was a disease going around and to avoid street food) and areas of interest. But more on that later.
We checked in and got to our room. Definitely not as nice as Luan Vu. A bit more run-down, not as clean. My toilet phobia kicked in.
"Sury.ani hates you," said the Russian.
"No she doesn't. She loves me!" I protested. But I was sad and unsure.
After washing up we went out to look for lunch. It was almost 3 p.m. and we hadn't had a bite since breakfast.
Ok, so this is where Hanoi really began.
It was a shock for me. From everything I'd read and heard, I was expecting Hanoi to be relaxed, calm, a bit like Battambang but with even more character and colour. Instead, it was all motorcycles, as far as the eyes can see and as loud as the ears can hear.
Hanoi is a city run by motorcycles, who use humans as a means of transportation to get around. Motorcycles get first dibs on everything. People are the second class citizens.
You can't really walk in Hanoi. In Ho Chi Minh City, you can walk on the pavements. But you can't even step on Hanoi's pavements. The pavements are meant for parking motorcycles. So you have to walk on the road. But often the sides of the roads are also used as parking lots, so you might have to walk in the middle of the road. Or you could do a winding dance around the tightly-packed, stationary motorcycles, if you are thin enough and agile enough. (Most of the time I was not).
A lot of times I would have to perform a balancing act, in which I would place half a foot on an inch of bare pavement between two parked motorcycles, stretch out my other leg and place that foot on the road but not too far out in case I get run down by the oncoming traffic, then skip and try to make sure my first foot lands right in front of my second foot. Then I would have to stop, look around, take a step onto the road, change my mind, take a step back onto the pavement, realise there's no space, then take a step back onto the road, shake my head in exhaustion, and sigh. Then finally, take a breath and walk back onto the pavement because knocking over motorcycles is better than death.
It was difficult. And then, there were the road crossings. I never got the hang of it, not after 10 days. It is simply too excruciatingly terrifying for me to cross a road and see a barrage of motorcycles and cars coming right at me with their lights shining right in my face and getting ever brighter... My heart stopped beating each time we crossed a road. Even now as I write this and remember it, I feel my chest tightening.
And Hanoi was dirty. There was no rubbish on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City but Hanoi is really dirty. The gutters are always overflowing with black water that the shopkeepers constantly sweep into their neighbours' territories. Rubbish lies everywhere.
Given the situation, we decided to eat somewhere near our guesthouse. We looked for Cha Ca La Vong, which was listed in Lonely Planet. When we got there, it was closed for renovation. We looked for another restaurant listed in the book, and this time we simply couldn't find it at all. It had disappeared. So we walked some more until we got to Hang Bac, and ate at a restaurant called Cafe 138.
In Vietnam the sun begins its descent from about 5 pm. By 6 pm, it is fully night in Hanoi. We returned to our room after lunch, hurrying before it got too cold for us to be out without our jackets. That's one good thing about this city -- it's cold, so even though it's congested and polluted and smoky and dusty, you never really break a sweat, even at noon.
After grabbing our jackets and moaning a bit about not wanting to face the traffic again (mostly on my part), we set back out to discover the city. This time we decided to go to the Hoan Kiem district and watch the water puppet show. It was a long, long walk. Staying at Hang Ga street is really not a good idea for someone who is terrified of walking in Hanoi.
And to get to the water puppet theatre and the Hoan Kiem Lake, you have to cross this huge circle junction. And then another very wide, very busy road. Hoan Kiem was heart attack central for me, but it was also the centre of all tourist activity in Hanoi and a popular chill out spot with the locals too.
The main thing about Hoan Kiem is the lake, of course, and on the lake is a bridge and a temple. Surrounding the lake are restaurants and shops, the water puppet theatre, a tourist information centre and some banks. It is always crowded, as much with vehicles as with people. Tourists outnumber locals here. Souvenir shops range from the high class designer goods boutique to the knock-off stall. What I found most interesting about Hoan Kiem was that on one side of the lake was the Old Quarter, which is dirty and narrow and crowded, but when you walk around it, you get to the upper class part of town on the other side - wide boulevards, fancy new buildings, five-star restaurants, clean streets.
Alas, tickets to the water puppet show were sold out. So we walked some more. We walked by the lake. It was breezy and cool. Calm if not for the traffic surrounding it. We saw a lot of local couples making out, cocooned in the romantic shroud of Hanoi's incessant HONKING. Our Fort Canning is a meditative haven compared to this park. But they have much better weather. Peaceful but oven-like, or cool but deafening? I can't choose either.
Once we'd had enough of the lake, we did a spot of shopping. Well I bought a bag, that's all. The lock on my suitcase had stopped working after the Pacific Airlines flight and I needed a safer bag. I got a cavernous Kipling bag, really huge and very well-made, for just 30 SGD. Well I think it's a steal.
Then we had dinner at Bun Pho. Or whatever it was called. We ordered too much and couldn't roll our own spring rolls properly. And then we trudged back to our guesthouse, where I bathed only after much persuading by the Russian. That night we slept quite soundly despite the fact that our room faced the traffic. It was, for me, a sleep that was needed to soothe terror and distress, more than the sleep of weariness, and my wounded constitution needed as much of it as I could get. I'm sure I snored more loudly than usual that night.
I have spent the last three days selecting, uploading, rotating, cropping, retouching, arranging and labelling my 501 photos of Vietnam. (We actually took more than 800.) Please make the effort worth it:
(As in the body part, not weapons. Joke to be explained in Day 5 post. Stay tuned.)
Shaz: I can't tell if they've adopted French words into their language (like the Indonesians did with Dutch) because they were completely unintelligible to me. But the only French we saw/heard were tourism-related, i.e. some tour guides spoke French, some menus had French words in them, but otherwise local life is completely in Vietnamese, except for the word "baguette". For some reason that sticks.
In Cambodia I saw a lot more French, for example all the government and university buildings had French signs but in Vietnam no signs in French or English at all, so a lot of the time we saw pretty buildings, but didn't know what they were, which was quite a shame. In Cambodia too there are a lot more street names that are French, like Rue Pasteur and whatnot but in Vietnam everything has been nationalised. It's all Dung Hai Ba Trung and Pho Ly Thai To from Hanoi to Saigon. They'd rather reuse the same names in different cities than name their streets after any white dude, it seems.
About the embassy, yeah don't be sorry about it, I was really pissed off at how little they could help and everyone has been telling me to complain. But I'm too lazy and I don't know if anything would come of it anyway.
You went to Morocco! That is one of my dream destinations. Please please write about it.
Joon: Haha. I will only allow you to do it because you compliment me. And anyway you spent half the trip separated from us so you have no choice. Write about Hue!
