My Dong Is Strong

I’m sorry Vietnam…you can’t have a currency called the Dong and not expect me to make at least one joke. Especially when one dollar fetches roughly 18,000 Dong, meaning that about US$65 made me a veritable Dong millionaire. Hilarious. And no, it never got old.

Well, now that that’s out of my system, I’ll pick up where I left off. As I said, the bus ride to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) from Phnom Penh was relatively uneventful, with the exception of one river crossing when our full-size tour bus drove onto a ferry with another full-size tour bus and about 50 Cambodian kids who spent the 20-minute ride trying to sell us snacks and drinks through our windows. It was more of a funny experience than anything, but it was also my last taste of the level of poverty and lack of development that I saw all through Cambodia.

The first thing I noticed on my way from the border to Saigon was that Vietnam (at least the part of the country I saw from that bus) is years ahead of Cambodia in terms of both population growth and industrialization. In a matter of minutes after leaving Phnom Penh on my way to the border, I saw the road change from clean tarmac to a dusty mix of dirt and asphalt, and the relatively well-built apartments replaced by shacks made of scrap wood with corrugated tin roofs. The scenery on the Vietnamese side drew a sharp contrast: the road was clean and smooth, houses were all made of either brick or steel and concrete, and larger businesses like Honda dealerships (selling scooters, not cars) began popping up well before we reached the city limits. Given what I knew about the condition that the country was left in after the American war, I was amazed at how good the it looked only thirty some years later. This first impression only strengthened when I arrived in Saigon.

I had arranged to meet up with Jon Dillingham at a café shortly after my bus arrived in the “backpacker neighborhood” of downtown Saigon. Remember Charles and Susan from California? Jon is their son. Although we had been in touch for a week or so via e-mail and his father basically grew up with my mother, I actually hadn’t seen Jon since some Thanksgiving dinner when I was about five years old. In our e-mail exchanges he had generously offered to put me up in Saigon, but to be honest I was worried that I would be imposing on a virtual stranger. Jon pulled up on his old (but awesome) motorcycle, practically parked it on the café’s front steps, and within five minutes of our first conversation, I knew staying with him was a good call.

After we dropped my bag at his place, Jon gave me the best possible tour anyone can get on their first night in Saigon: a half hour-long, mad-cap dash through all the major neighborhoods of the city on the back of his motorbike. Saigon is stunningly beautiful. The wide boulevards and pleasant architecture left behind by the French combine with the steamy weather, flashes of neon on the newer buildings, dozens of street vendors and the endless swarms of motorcycles to create a completely unique atmosphere. I was sold on Saigon almost instantly.

During my five-day stay at their place, Jon and Hue were beyond hospitable. I had breakfasts, lunches and dinners at some of their favorite restaurants and street-side food stalls and enjoyed two fantastic home-cooked meals at Hue’s parents’ house. My expectations for the food in Vietnam were high, and I really can say that they were exceeded. The bowl of pho that I had at a back alley food stall at 7:30 a.m. one morning was one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten. Ever. In addition to eating well, Jon, Hue and I also visited the Cu Chi tunnels together, a touristy but amazing look at some of the Viet Cong’s infamous engineering feats. Jon also took me for a walk in a rural area about 45 minutes from Saigon one morning that gave me a chance to take in those typical Southeast Asian rice paddies on foot, which is even more scenic and much more enjoyable than speeding by them on a bus. Jon and Hue pointed me in the direction of the better museums and monuments, which I explored when they were working. They were both fantastic hosts and Saigon was an incredible city. It wasn’t easy to leave.

My first stop outside Saigon was Nha Trang, a beautiful eight-hour bus ride to the north. The seaside city was more like Florida than Vietnam, with high-rise hotels lining the entire coast, more western restaurants than I could count and some hilariously trashy (and fun, to be honest) dance clubs on the beach. It was a good place to swim, sail and get a terrible sunburn though, and the all-day boat tour I took of four nearby islands was fun as well…even if it was trashier than the beach clubs. From Nha Trang, I booked a Vietnam Airlines flight to Danang, a riverside town that was short on tourist attractions but had some great street food and a more laid-back feel. From Danang, I headed to Bach Ma national park, which wound up being a great break from the frantic pace and smothering heat of the rest of Vietnam. Bach Ma Mountain is about 5,000 feet tall, and there are a few guesthouses right at the top of the mountain that have private rooms for about ten dollars per night. I really can’t describe how heavenly it was (after a month of constantly sweating my ass off) to enjoy a meal and a good night’s sleep in the 55-degree mountain air, surrounded by pine trees.

A Vietnamese woman named Chau, the only other guest in my hotel at the top of Bach Ma, was heading towards Hue (my next stop as well) the next morning, so we both began walking down the mountain road together. Just as we began to get tired, a minivan passed us. We waved it down, and Chau spoke with the family, who also happened to be headed towards Hue. We agreed to chip in about three bucks each for gas, and we had ourselves a ride.

Chau and I spent the next day touring Hue, which was once the capital of the Vietnamese empire. Aside from being nicely situated along a river with some nice mountains in the background, the old Imperial citadel was a great place to wander around. We also checked out the tomb of one of the last Emperors of Vietnam, which was impressive and located in some very nice countryside. I only had one full day in Hue, and I definitely felt like I missed out on a fare amount.

From Hue, I took a hellish overnight bus ride up to Hanoi. I don’t think anything has ever been more poorly named than this thirteen-hour “sleeper bus.” The concept seems great: instead of rows of seats, there are two levels of “beds” in which you can recline almost all the way back, making sleeping much easier. However, if you happen to be about twice as tall as the average Vietnamese person, you spend an entire night tossing and turning, trying to avoid physical contact with a sixty-year-old man who is sleeping next to you and smells like a dirty sock that someone peed on. I think I can safely say that my iPod was the only thing keeping me from throwing myself out of my postage stamp-sized window while the bus was barreling down Highway 1. When I arrived in Hanoi, I jumped into the first hotel that had an air-conditioned room (it was one hundred degrees and humid) and collapsed for about six hours.

Hanoi, in my opinion, lacks a lot of the charm of Saigon. Throughout my time in Vietnam, other travelers had been telling me that the people in the capital city were the rudest in the country. I have to say they were right. It’s not that everyone there was a huge asshole, but the percentage of people in shops and restaurants that were less than polite was much higher in Hanoi than elsewhere in Vietnam. Considering the relationship between their country and the West over the last one hundred years or so, I can’t say I blame them at all, but the attitude did combine with the ridiculous heat to make for a less than pleasant stay. That being said, the street food and bia hoi (fresh beer that street vendors serve up at about twenty cents a glass) were great and the overnight tour of Halong Bay that I booked through my hostel there was a great time (the pictures pretty much tell the story, so I won’t go into tons of detail about it here).

On my way to the Hanoi airport on June 25th, I had the distinct feeling that I was leaving Vietnam way too soon. I knew I would be able to come back some time, but I also selfishly hoped that it wouldn’t be developed beyond recognition by the time I returned. I felt the same thing that I feel about Cuba, that Vietnam is a country that could easily lose what makes it so amazing in the next five or ten years. I hope I’m wrong.