Last night, this morning
It's all blended together
It's Sanctuary
An Evening of Wine, Cheese and Beauty
12 years ago
5.31.2009
5.30.2009
5.29.2009
5.28.2009
Into the sweatbox... "You like my store? You come buy?"
Arrived off the Mekong delta on fumes. Worn out after a 15 hour endurance race across the pacific i was running on caffeine and desperation. Giving in to necessity we booked an over priced cab to a cafe in the middle of Saigon's backpacker district in order to meet our contacts by phone. I was drop dead sober and needed a beer. Bad.
Our cab weaved in and out of traffic with apparent disregard to safety, traffic laws, and solid road lines avoiding the swarms of moto-scooter cylos that teem across Saigon's sprawling districts. The AC spat cold air across my face drying my nose but providing respite from the wet swamp 30 degree heat just outside of our ride. Horns honked a cacophony warning drivers of incoming cyclos, like wasps with a death-wish darting in front of our SUV. After an hour of this we arrived at Cafe Sihn, the point at which we were to meet Dave and Landon.
Buong Te Dahm was a narrow asphalt strip lined with cheap trinket shops, decrepit french pastry stores and narrow 4 story guest houses framed by a spiderweb of electrical cables that defied logic and engineering bringing power to the bustling city. Sure an electrical fire would break out at any minute i crossed the road hoping Cafe Sihn would quench my thirst with a cheap beer and a nice fan. Less a Cafe and more of a Tourism Depot Cafe Sihn was a thin fluorescent lit desk of travel agents. Not a waitress or bar to be seen. Bewildered i pulled out my contact info for D and L and asked if there was a payphone nearby.
Being directed back across the street i started to gain an understanding off the task required just to cross the street. The scooters don't stop, the vans don't stop, the buses, trucks, bikes and cars dont stop. But above all. The pedestrians don't fucking stop. It is a dodge-em game of man and heavy metal machine. Luckily given the general disregard for traffic lines everyone dodges each other well.
So far.
We get safely across to the payphone which is less a payphone and more of a regular house phone with a long cord, stretched out to the curb and placed in a foul smelling wooden booth. I looked into the "store" where 3 attractive Vietnamese women reclined at the back and made the universal "thumb to pinkie" phone gesture. A woman approached and i was informed the phone rate for local calls was 30,000 Dong a minute (about 2.50) "Fuck off" I thought to myself as from behind we i heard a shrill female voice shout our names.
Alexis and I turned to see Landon bounding up onto the sidewalk having seen us cross from he perch inside Sa Sa Cafe across the street. We joined her and entered a right and proper South Asian Cafe and greetings and hugs were exchanged all round. Introduced to a Dutchman named Johann i scanned the menu for the cheapest largest beer i could get my hands on. 20,000 dong ($1.40) got me a half litre tiger which quenched my thirst and washed the roughshod static from my travel-addled mind. A passable chicken burger later and some more beer and we were off to get accommodations to bed down in for that night.
***
Our cab weaved in and out of traffic with apparent disregard to safety, traffic laws, and solid road lines avoiding the swarms of moto-scooter cylos that teem across Saigon's sprawling districts. The AC spat cold air across my face drying my nose but providing respite from the wet swamp 30 degree heat just outside of our ride. Horns honked a cacophony warning drivers of incoming cyclos, like wasps with a death-wish darting in front of our SUV. After an hour of this we arrived at Cafe Sihn, the point at which we were to meet Dave and Landon.
Buong Te Dahm was a narrow asphalt strip lined with cheap trinket shops, decrepit french pastry stores and narrow 4 story guest houses framed by a spiderweb of electrical cables that defied logic and engineering bringing power to the bustling city. Sure an electrical fire would break out at any minute i crossed the road hoping Cafe Sihn would quench my thirst with a cheap beer and a nice fan. Less a Cafe and more of a Tourism Depot Cafe Sihn was a thin fluorescent lit desk of travel agents. Not a waitress or bar to be seen. Bewildered i pulled out my contact info for D and L and asked if there was a payphone nearby.
Being directed back across the street i started to gain an understanding off the task required just to cross the street. The scooters don't stop, the vans don't stop, the buses, trucks, bikes and cars dont stop. But above all. The pedestrians don't fucking stop. It is a dodge-em game of man and heavy metal machine. Luckily given the general disregard for traffic lines everyone dodges each other well.
So far.
We get safely across to the payphone which is less a payphone and more of a regular house phone with a long cord, stretched out to the curb and placed in a foul smelling wooden booth. I looked into the "store" where 3 attractive Vietnamese women reclined at the back and made the universal "thumb to pinkie" phone gesture. A woman approached and i was informed the phone rate for local calls was 30,000 Dong a minute (about 2.50) "Fuck off" I thought to myself as from behind we i heard a shrill female voice shout our names.
Alexis and I turned to see Landon bounding up onto the sidewalk having seen us cross from he perch inside Sa Sa Cafe across the street. We joined her and entered a right and proper South Asian Cafe and greetings and hugs were exchanged all round. Introduced to a Dutchman named Johann i scanned the menu for the cheapest largest beer i could get my hands on. 20,000 dong ($1.40) got me a half litre tiger which quenched my thirst and washed the roughshod static from my travel-addled mind. A passable chicken burger later and some more beer and we were off to get accommodations to bed down in for that night.
***
Death race and a french loaf... white coffee please
Our guest house was a narrow 4 story affair located of the main roan of De Tham down a tight alley overshadowed by the Vietnamese flag with its yellow star on a blazing red background. A family run affair we removed our shoes and looked at the room.
A spartan affair of two beds, two fans and a bathroom in which the shower hangs on the wall beside the toilet (quite common here) for $4 a night each we weren't going to be picky. The space was clean and while quite warm the fans would cool us. Besides i didn't plan on being all to much sober when i finally made it to bed.
We unpacked and then returned to Sa Sa Cafe to form a game plan. It was still early in the day so we decided to hoof it to the War (crimes) Remnants museum about 30 blocks away.
The sun beat down through the oppressive haze as we took off on foot. Ever few meters we were offered a "taxi service" from a number of moto-scooter riders but we politely declined. Reaching a major crossing we started to learn the intricate dance that is being a pedestrian crossing a Saigon street.
(continued in a bit after i eat brekky and get some of the best coffee i have ever had...)
A spartan affair of two beds, two fans and a bathroom in which the shower hangs on the wall beside the toilet (quite common here) for $4 a night each we weren't going to be picky. The space was clean and while quite warm the fans would cool us. Besides i didn't plan on being all to much sober when i finally made it to bed.
We unpacked and then returned to Sa Sa Cafe to form a game plan. It was still early in the day so we decided to hoof it to the War (crimes) Remnants museum about 30 blocks away.
The sun beat down through the oppressive haze as we took off on foot. Ever few meters we were offered a "taxi service" from a number of moto-scooter riders but we politely declined. Reaching a major crossing we started to learn the intricate dance that is being a pedestrian crossing a Saigon street.
(continued in a bit after i eat brekky and get some of the best coffee i have ever had...)
Welcome to the abysss.. Is there a Vietnamese dream and where do i find it?
..Given that there seem to be no traffic laws in Saigon, nor that they would be followed if there were, crossing a major street becomes somewhat of a trial in trust and pure adrenaline. You look left, and unlike most other cities it isn't a simple matter of waiting for a break in the traffic. There isn't one. Bicycles and cyclos travel at a leisurley 20 km/h or so while cars race by at speeds around 50. Busses move slower but will completely block your path in the middle of the street. And what's worse is there is no constant moto speed apparent. They are all travelling in masive swarms sounding like god-forsaken motorized bees spewing their noxious fumes into the air.
So.
You just step out. Yup, right into fucking speeding traffic. You make eye contact left until you reach the centre of the street then, assuming no one will just run you down - the motos are quite manouverable and most drivers skilled they swerve around any and all obstacles- then looking right you repeat the process. The trick is to NEVER run and for the love of all that is holy, don't stop. Running puts you into their sights and the bastards don't know how to handle a moving target. Frozen still and you're worse off as it's actually easier to avoid a slowly moving target. Done correctly it is a wonder to watch 5 pedestrians dance in and out of full speed traffic which barely slows. (I will be uploading some vids to show you guys this amazing process)
***
The Vietnam War Crimes museum suffers from a bit of schizophrenia. Like Saigon/Ho Ch Minh City, it too has changed names a number of times and just finished renovations last year. The museum exists ostensibly as an educational tool to inform visitors about the various colonial attrocities and war crimes commited by foreign powers against the People of Vietnam.
Lying somewhere between snuff mag/freakshow and military hardware museum the site boasts a sprawling courtyard in which long forgotten Us fighter planes and tanks dot the landscape. Tourist couples kiss in front of war machines, ignorant of the realites of the Hell that said machines brought to this country. Inside the humid complex is a winding series of wall mounted displays which show news clippings, various quotes from bothe sides and a massive collection of bloody, macabre, examples of the various attrocities commited during the Vietnam War and by the french colonial powers. Mutated babies, phosphorous burn victimes, decapitated POW's and land-mine victims were nauseating at times but prescient in there power to affect the viewer, seeing a farmer throen from a helicopter or dragged behind a tank shows that the cliche about pictures and their word-value wrings true.
After viewing the assorted small arms and heavy machine guns, the ammunition and the massive ordinance, the grenades, and the bazookas one is then ushered into a room of childrens artwork about peace. It was banal and i quickly became bored.
My morbid curiosity however was peaked when upon arriving outside I stumbled upon a full scale recreation of the jailing system used by the French to house dissidents and subversives. They used a system called a tiget trap in which between 5 and 15 people could be locked into a tiny space, completely dark except fot the bars overhead through which the guards could look down on them. Added to this was acruel shackling device that lock around the prisoners ankles forcing them to remain in a partially seated position, unable to fully lie down or turn over. Many people became partially paralyzed or had to have limbs amputated as a result of these torture devices. If malnutrion or infection didn't kill you then the French Guillotines would finish the jobs.
Feeling a bit of moral outrage and depression at the trials of the Vietnamese i went outside and was promptly ripped of for a bottle of water paying 4 times the accepted rate.
***
Notre Dame Cathedral. It looks like the one in Paris but a bit smaller. I guess thats cool if you are into that kind of thing. We were pestered continuously by small children selling gum and flowers, i wanted a beer and some food so we carried on. Stopping at Pho 24 we decided to try some of the local beef soup that Lexy and i eat 3 or 4 times a week back home. We later learned that we had chosen the McDonalds equivalent to Pho in Saigon, or i suppose the Pho Hoa version from back home. The service started out well but the language barrier resulted in a number of mistakes and we were unable to communicate "vegetarian" to them for Dave and Landon's sake. Dave had tea. Landon went next door.
The pho broth was excellent with the right mix of anise and pepper a light beefy flavour and a bit of cinnamon and basil. The meat quality though was something i would soon become accustomed to at cheaper eateries in Saigon. The cuts of beef are all quite small and stringy, not gristley per say but more like end cuts and trimmings. This wasn't true at the more expensive places we ate at but hey, i'm on a fucking budget here, I can't eat Waygu Beef every day. Satiated, i guess, we resumed our semi-circular trek back towards Pham Ngu Lao, the backpacker district we were staying in. As we walked taking in the overwhelming sights sounds and smells of Saigon we passed by a nice dark wood establishment with a massive sign promoting their German Beer. Hell's yes i want a fucking German beer.
We were seated in a beautiful courtyard and ordered our .5 litre Adlerbrau (Eagle Beer - Fuck Yeah!) and proceeded to drink one of the best beers i have had outside of Czech. My usual fare in Saigon had been Tiger beer, a drinkable and when cold enjoyable Singaporean brewed lager that is quite crisp and clean with a nice malty sweetness. The Adlerbrau was wonderful though, I had chosen the Lager and it was smooth but complex with a nice clean bitter aftertaste that was almost a bit herbal. This stands high above the other beer choice for the budget traveller in Saigon and the drink of the unwashed masses Bia Hơi (Vietnamese fresh beer). Bia Hoi appeared in Vietnam in the 1890s, after the secrets of brewing were introduced by the French. Just one place, the Hommel brewery, turned out the stuff, and it was a fairly modest enterprise employing just 30 workers capable of producing 150 litres a day. The beer was also sold bottled, but it was so expensive that it was only for the wealthy people.
After the French left Vietnam in 1954, the Hommel brewery was renamed the Hanoi Brewery. But the refreshing amber fluid still took a while to become popular, until the brewery hit on the novel idea of producing an instant draught beer known as Bia Hơi, literally translated as “fresh beer”.
The Fresh Beer is only 4% so you have to drink a boatload of it, but seeing that it is only partially fermented you risk getting queasy from over comsuption. The good thing about Bia Hoi however is that it's price tag of 3000 VND is about 35 cents, added to that is that there are o preservatives or additives so headaches and shite hangoevers are rare. Unless you drink 6 litres of the stuff.
It tastes... Ok i guess. Very herbally and kind of like marijuana. It tastes green and is not super carbonated... It also goes bad in about a day which explains the necessity to sell it for around 3-5000 VND (about 40 cents) We drank at a Bia Hoi spot perched on small plastic chairs surrounded by locals chewing on dried cuttleffish and all laughing and talking uproariously. It was a great find and we soon left stumbling into the streets on the search for more fun and learning that dodgings scooters and cars is much more fun when one is totally trashed.
***
So.
You just step out. Yup, right into fucking speeding traffic. You make eye contact left until you reach the centre of the street then, assuming no one will just run you down - the motos are quite manouverable and most drivers skilled they swerve around any and all obstacles- then looking right you repeat the process. The trick is to NEVER run and for the love of all that is holy, don't stop. Running puts you into their sights and the bastards don't know how to handle a moving target. Frozen still and you're worse off as it's actually easier to avoid a slowly moving target. Done correctly it is a wonder to watch 5 pedestrians dance in and out of full speed traffic which barely slows. (I will be uploading some vids to show you guys this amazing process)
***
The Vietnam War Crimes museum suffers from a bit of schizophrenia. Like Saigon/Ho Ch Minh City, it too has changed names a number of times and just finished renovations last year. The museum exists ostensibly as an educational tool to inform visitors about the various colonial attrocities and war crimes commited by foreign powers against the People of Vietnam.
Lying somewhere between snuff mag/freakshow and military hardware museum the site boasts a sprawling courtyard in which long forgotten Us fighter planes and tanks dot the landscape. Tourist couples kiss in front of war machines, ignorant of the realites of the Hell that said machines brought to this country. Inside the humid complex is a winding series of wall mounted displays which show news clippings, various quotes from bothe sides and a massive collection of bloody, macabre, examples of the various attrocities commited during the Vietnam War and by the french colonial powers. Mutated babies, phosphorous burn victimes, decapitated POW's and land-mine victims were nauseating at times but prescient in there power to affect the viewer, seeing a farmer throen from a helicopter or dragged behind a tank shows that the cliche about pictures and their word-value wrings true.
After viewing the assorted small arms and heavy machine guns, the ammunition and the massive ordinance, the grenades, and the bazookas one is then ushered into a room of childrens artwork about peace. It was banal and i quickly became bored.
My morbid curiosity however was peaked when upon arriving outside I stumbled upon a full scale recreation of the jailing system used by the French to house dissidents and subversives. They used a system called a tiget trap in which between 5 and 15 people could be locked into a tiny space, completely dark except fot the bars overhead through which the guards could look down on them. Added to this was acruel shackling device that lock around the prisoners ankles forcing them to remain in a partially seated position, unable to fully lie down or turn over. Many people became partially paralyzed or had to have limbs amputated as a result of these torture devices. If malnutrion or infection didn't kill you then the French Guillotines would finish the jobs.
Feeling a bit of moral outrage and depression at the trials of the Vietnamese i went outside and was promptly ripped of for a bottle of water paying 4 times the accepted rate.
***
Notre Dame Cathedral. It looks like the one in Paris but a bit smaller. I guess thats cool if you are into that kind of thing. We were pestered continuously by small children selling gum and flowers, i wanted a beer and some food so we carried on. Stopping at Pho 24 we decided to try some of the local beef soup that Lexy and i eat 3 or 4 times a week back home. We later learned that we had chosen the McDonalds equivalent to Pho in Saigon, or i suppose the Pho Hoa version from back home. The service started out well but the language barrier resulted in a number of mistakes and we were unable to communicate "vegetarian" to them for Dave and Landon's sake. Dave had tea. Landon went next door.
The pho broth was excellent with the right mix of anise and pepper a light beefy flavour and a bit of cinnamon and basil. The meat quality though was something i would soon become accustomed to at cheaper eateries in Saigon. The cuts of beef are all quite small and stringy, not gristley per say but more like end cuts and trimmings. This wasn't true at the more expensive places we ate at but hey, i'm on a fucking budget here, I can't eat Waygu Beef every day. Satiated, i guess, we resumed our semi-circular trek back towards Pham Ngu Lao, the backpacker district we were staying in. As we walked taking in the overwhelming sights sounds and smells of Saigon we passed by a nice dark wood establishment with a massive sign promoting their German Beer. Hell's yes i want a fucking German beer.
We were seated in a beautiful courtyard and ordered our .5 litre Adlerbrau (Eagle Beer - Fuck Yeah!) and proceeded to drink one of the best beers i have had outside of Czech. My usual fare in Saigon had been Tiger beer, a drinkable and when cold enjoyable Singaporean brewed lager that is quite crisp and clean with a nice malty sweetness. The Adlerbrau was wonderful though, I had chosen the Lager and it was smooth but complex with a nice clean bitter aftertaste that was almost a bit herbal. This stands high above the other beer choice for the budget traveller in Saigon and the drink of the unwashed masses Bia Hơi (Vietnamese fresh beer). Bia Hoi appeared in Vietnam in the 1890s, after the secrets of brewing were introduced by the French. Just one place, the Hommel brewery, turned out the stuff, and it was a fairly modest enterprise employing just 30 workers capable of producing 150 litres a day. The beer was also sold bottled, but it was so expensive that it was only for the wealthy people.
After the French left Vietnam in 1954, the Hommel brewery was renamed the Hanoi Brewery. But the refreshing amber fluid still took a while to become popular, until the brewery hit on the novel idea of producing an instant draught beer known as Bia Hơi, literally translated as “fresh beer”.
The Fresh Beer is only 4% so you have to drink a boatload of it, but seeing that it is only partially fermented you risk getting queasy from over comsuption. The good thing about Bia Hoi however is that it's price tag of 3000 VND is about 35 cents, added to that is that there are o preservatives or additives so headaches and shite hangoevers are rare. Unless you drink 6 litres of the stuff.
It tastes... Ok i guess. Very herbally and kind of like marijuana. It tastes green and is not super carbonated... It also goes bad in about a day which explains the necessity to sell it for around 3-5000 VND (about 40 cents) We drank at a Bia Hoi spot perched on small plastic chairs surrounded by locals chewing on dried cuttleffish and all laughing and talking uproariously. It was a great find and we soon left stumbling into the streets on the search for more fun and learning that dodgings scooters and cars is much more fun when one is totally trashed.
***
Keep your eyes peeled... Charlie could be anywhere...
The complex history of Vietnam and it's cycles of colonial violence and (illegal) wars of foreign aggression against it mayhaps be better left to Jessica with her sober erudite analysis of events, happenings and their subsequent complex socio-ideological outcomes and effects on people and culture. To put it lightly the Vietnamese got FUCKED during the 20th century. By the French, By the Yanks, by the WTO and the World Bank and as i have seen it so far, a little bit by themselves. But from this point i digress from the events at hand. The highlight of May 1st, 2009, waking up at 6:30 am was that I.
Was not.
Hungover.
Something about the tropical climate allows me to consume vast quantities of drugs and alcohol with only minor side effects the next morning. (Much more about this later)
The sun rises, i wake up and shower off the evenings sweat, scraping filth and bug droppings from myself, chasing various bugs the size of small cats from our room and having a quick wank to jump start the day. At this point my thoughts turn to food. Cheap, tasty delicious food... I wake Lexy and head downstairs while she readies her beautiful self. Even in the tropical heat my muse shines like a goddess while us lowly degenerates sweat buckets and leave a trail of cash-scent like a dog in heat... money and sweat. Filthy lucre which smells of opportunity to the touts and food cart operators.They want to mount us from afar and take our western dollars. My pity is a deep dark walnut inside and it is coated in empathy, but that empathy is a thick tar and is only scrapped off, and balled into a hash like substance when i feel a tug on my heart strings that is beyond mere poverty and some how transcends the poetic. I think poor nations see us as obese disgusting creatures of waste and consumption (which we can be) belching, farting and consuming all in our wake. If they had it their (our) way i would eat 12 meals a day and consume 20 litres of beer, purchase 200 American dollars worth of knick knacks and still be unsatisfied... And the tragedy is, this might be a reality for some tourists...
But at this moment a french loaf stuffed with egg and chili calls, a glass of fresh water and a deadline.
We are to hop a bus North to see where the Viet Minh guerrillas dug tunnels and booby trapped the wilderness so they fight the fascist French colonial government and 25 years later slaughter the American pigs who invaded their home land, raped their women, burned their villages and took their dignity in a ideologically flawed criminal war of aggression against a sovereign nation... (sound familiar?)
Cu Chi tunnels encompassed a total of 150 square kilometers 65 km north of Saigon and were a major hot spot for fighting in the insurrection against the French as well as a Viet Cong stronghold for weapons, hospitals, barracks and battle sights during the Vietnam/American war. A wonder and a macabre claustrophobic beauty to behold the tunnels were often 3 levels deep with the primary level around 3 meters high and serving as hospitals and kitchens. (The full engineering details would blow your mind for people tunneling with crude wood and recycled metal) Below that are tunnels no more than a meter high, dug into solid clay, soft and permeable yet strong enough to support the ant hill like tunnels dug by the Viet Minh. Below these, the tunnels shortened to only 40 cm in height requiring one to crawl belly first. These tunnels were riddled with pit falls and man traps. Sharpened punji sticks and gruesome traps waited for their victims, who, once trapped were easy prey for the AK-47 wielding Viet Cong.
We entered these tunnels, which had been expanded by 40% (for whitey) and entered a dark oppressive underground that quickly closed in and forced us into a permanent squatting position. I traveled the length of the tunnels thinking about what it would have been like sitting in the darkness, the drone of a B52 bomber overhead and the percussive thunder of its 10 tonne bombs as they littered the barren wasteland above spraying hellfire across the landscape and decimating life in a place that they had no right to be.
Fuck it. I want to fire an AK 47.
50 buck later and i had 3 clips in hand and a set of sub-standard ear protection. I started on a single shot setting which was truthfully less that ideal. I had shot .22 caliber rifles in my youth in Alberta and while the kick of the Ak was much more noticeable, it lacked that jeune se quoi. This was remedied by switching the death dealer to full auto, at which point it began to pound my shoulder like a thrash band bass drum as i ran through the clip in a few seconds. The stock had heated to an uncomfortable point and brass cartridges littered the floor. Cordite and sulfur reeked through the air permeating our clothes and smelling of the Gates of Hell. Satan and awesomeness? I'm sold. I suppose i now have a love affair with rifles that will need to be satisfied. I'm on the road to whiskey and vodka appreciation, perhaps assault weapons are next.
I exited the range and promptly did a shot of Snake Whiskey. On the house. Back to the bus for a nap and then we figured we'd light up Saigon with our own brand of East Van fun...
***
Was not.
Hungover.
Something about the tropical climate allows me to consume vast quantities of drugs and alcohol with only minor side effects the next morning. (Much more about this later)
The sun rises, i wake up and shower off the evenings sweat, scraping filth and bug droppings from myself, chasing various bugs the size of small cats from our room and having a quick wank to jump start the day. At this point my thoughts turn to food. Cheap, tasty delicious food... I wake Lexy and head downstairs while she readies her beautiful self. Even in the tropical heat my muse shines like a goddess while us lowly degenerates sweat buckets and leave a trail of cash-scent like a dog in heat... money and sweat. Filthy lucre which smells of opportunity to the touts and food cart operators.They want to mount us from afar and take our western dollars. My pity is a deep dark walnut inside and it is coated in empathy, but that empathy is a thick tar and is only scrapped off, and balled into a hash like substance when i feel a tug on my heart strings that is beyond mere poverty and some how transcends the poetic. I think poor nations see us as obese disgusting creatures of waste and consumption (which we can be) belching, farting and consuming all in our wake. If they had it their (our) way i would eat 12 meals a day and consume 20 litres of beer, purchase 200 American dollars worth of knick knacks and still be unsatisfied... And the tragedy is, this might be a reality for some tourists...
But at this moment a french loaf stuffed with egg and chili calls, a glass of fresh water and a deadline.
We are to hop a bus North to see where the Viet Minh guerrillas dug tunnels and booby trapped the wilderness so they fight the fascist French colonial government and 25 years later slaughter the American pigs who invaded their home land, raped their women, burned their villages and took their dignity in a ideologically flawed criminal war of aggression against a sovereign nation... (sound familiar?)
Cu Chi tunnels encompassed a total of 150 square kilometers 65 km north of Saigon and were a major hot spot for fighting in the insurrection against the French as well as a Viet Cong stronghold for weapons, hospitals, barracks and battle sights during the Vietnam/American war. A wonder and a macabre claustrophobic beauty to behold the tunnels were often 3 levels deep with the primary level around 3 meters high and serving as hospitals and kitchens. (The full engineering details would blow your mind for people tunneling with crude wood and recycled metal) Below that are tunnels no more than a meter high, dug into solid clay, soft and permeable yet strong enough to support the ant hill like tunnels dug by the Viet Minh. Below these, the tunnels shortened to only 40 cm in height requiring one to crawl belly first. These tunnels were riddled with pit falls and man traps. Sharpened punji sticks and gruesome traps waited for their victims, who, once trapped were easy prey for the AK-47 wielding Viet Cong.
We entered these tunnels, which had been expanded by 40% (for whitey) and entered a dark oppressive underground that quickly closed in and forced us into a permanent squatting position. I traveled the length of the tunnels thinking about what it would have been like sitting in the darkness, the drone of a B52 bomber overhead and the percussive thunder of its 10 tonne bombs as they littered the barren wasteland above spraying hellfire across the landscape and decimating life in a place that they had no right to be.
Fuck it. I want to fire an AK 47.
50 buck later and i had 3 clips in hand and a set of sub-standard ear protection. I started on a single shot setting which was truthfully less that ideal. I had shot .22 caliber rifles in my youth in Alberta and while the kick of the Ak was much more noticeable, it lacked that jeune se quoi. This was remedied by switching the death dealer to full auto, at which point it began to pound my shoulder like a thrash band bass drum as i ran through the clip in a few seconds. The stock had heated to an uncomfortable point and brass cartridges littered the floor. Cordite and sulfur reeked through the air permeating our clothes and smelling of the Gates of Hell. Satan and awesomeness? I'm sold. I suppose i now have a love affair with rifles that will need to be satisfied. I'm on the road to whiskey and vodka appreciation, perhaps assault weapons are next.
I exited the range and promptly did a shot of Snake Whiskey. On the house. Back to the bus for a nap and then we figured we'd light up Saigon with our own brand of East Van fun...
***
Onward and Northward... meeting Seanessica... Plane scares and rip-offs
Getting trashed in Saigon is an easy proposition, this process is made even easier by the fact that you can get grey market pharmaceuticals at any pharmacy. You don't needa 'script for most drugs, the key is just finding out the Vietnamese name for what you need is the key. I wanted to grab some Valium to ease those long overland bus rides in less than ideal conditions so we stopped into a local over-the-counter and through hand gestures, frantic pointing and some sketchy writing of names (diazepam, clonazepam, etc...) i succeeded in obtaining a handful of Valium for around 25 cents a pill. I wanted to get some dex or adderal but alas there was none to be found...
We spent the next day wandering our district shopping for pirated DVD's which range in both price and quality, touted at from every street corner the Saigon fumes were beginning to wear on my frazzled alcohol juiced nerves. We ate a delicious Pad Thai on a balcony overlooking the spiderweb of wires that passes for an electrical grid and then said our good byes to Dave, Landon and Johann... Off to new adventures we were headed North. Our flight would only be an hour and 20 minutes, a cake walk given some of the endurance treks i have endured to cross an underdeveloped country.
Arriving with a good 2 hours at the domestic terminal of the Ho Chi Minh airport was mistake number one. This fuckless hole in the ground lacked even the most basic of ammenities at the check in level, boasting a glass counter at which soft brown spotted fruit slowly fermented under the glare of the overhead florescents and the bored attendant dazed to the keening buzz of a machine that appears to exist to wrap luggage and packages in thin layers of polyethylene plastic. What purpos4e this serves is beyond me but the Vietnamese seem to love the service. Attempting to check in to our flight was similar to boarding a 99 B-line bus on September 5th at 8am at Commercial station when UBC has started its fall semester. ie. all sense of human manners as propriety developed over the past 10,000 years of cultural development take a back seat top a "me first" attitude, I cursed under my breath as we finally approached a wicket to be informed our flight was 2 hours delayed. Yay, socialist communism! This also began our constant shunting between standby wickets and solid plastic chairs designs to be sat in comfortably for exactly 2 minutes and 45 seconds. With 2 hours to go we tried to nap. Hungry. Thirsty. Sober. This fucking sucks.
We didn't get a seat on the first early flight to Hue, which made me wonder where the hell all the other passengers were. Is this cause we're white? Fuck. Can't thin like that. These are a lovely gracious people who have welcomed us into their country in order to share their lovely culture and take us for every penny... fuck it. Valium time.
I popped 4 Valium as Alexis found out we had made it onto the 645 flight. Time now.
6:45
Fuck... We rush to check in and then are informed while on the flight, it has been delayed an hour. We're handed our boarding passes and we head upstairs to breeze through security. I have to piss so i head to the head to take a slash... As i emerge from the single most foul airport washroom i have ever had the opportunity to grace with my urine, I mean i think my piss actually cleaned some of the trough style urinal into which I expelled it.... anyway... A lovely french tinged Vietnamese voice comes over the loud speaker announcing myself and Alexis as the last remaining passengers yet to board our "delayed" flight.
We run.
We make it. I'm apologizing yet fuming for an error that wasn't mine and we finally get seated and stowed as the Valium hits. sweet sweet mellow non-caring awesome... I could use a whiskey but I'll be happy if the plane gets off the ground let alone if it has a wet bar. A storm has descended and as we taxi onto the runway Lightning strobes, flashbulbs of crackling static and thunderous rumbles that play bass to the sheets of high-hat rain spattering on the wings. We take off in minor turbulence and i look up to see an odd misty smoke emanating from the wall 4 rows ahead of me. The Fear takes hold and my heart pounds. "That's it! The fucking planes on fire, we lost our engines and we;'re going down...." The valium at least keeps me in place and i look over at the stewardess sitting beside me. We're in an exit row and i'm ready to throw that fucking hatch wide open and ride the inflatable yellow slide to the ground like in the happy little brochure that sits in front of my seat...
(Remember Fight Club? Chuck Palahniuk knew that brochure is a pig-fucker. It lies through gritted teeth. It should feature a plane broken into thousands of parts, limbs and luggage, flotsam and jetsam, and survivors burning as they slide down what's left of that stupid cock sucking slide....)
Sooo.... the stewardess is calm and smiley... I sniff the air... I look at Alexis who is holding my hand.. "Do you smell mint?" I ask...
She says "Yah, a little...."
I then realize, the "smoke" is an aromatic mist with a soothing mint smell.
WHAT. THE. FUCK!?
Have these people never heard of a glade plug in? I thought the goddamn plane was on fire, take offs and landings are statistically the times of highest risk for an air plane and they decide to pump minty smoke like mist into the cabin to w. We're ok. We get to cruising altitude and get a free bottle of water. It's 300ml. I hate this airline.
***
We get into Hue airport around 9pm and disembark with little hassle, except when i had already paid a mini-bus ticket girl who then wandered off and i was sure she had ripped us off. mean while we were being accosted on all sides by taxi drivers who definitely wanted to rip us off. Alexis calms me down and with the assistance of a guard we track down our bus-lady and secure passage into Hue.
The old capital of Vietnam (1802-1945), Hue is located smack in the centre of the country and is just outside of the infamous former demilitarized zone from the war of American Agression. Fuck it. read more about it here --> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hue,_Vietnam
Really cool info.
We meet Jess and Sean easily on a side street in a Cafe across from our gorgeous hotel suite. It's unfortunate we will only have a few days here. We unencumbered ourselves and headed down to the cafe for dranks. The rest of the evening is a grey haze beset on all sides by everyone chattering in the back ground and me coming to consciousness and saying... Ït's ok.. I'm not sleeping! In a hurried desperate tone of voice, then passing back out.
Welcome to Hue.
We spent the next day wandering our district shopping for pirated DVD's which range in both price and quality, touted at from every street corner the Saigon fumes were beginning to wear on my frazzled alcohol juiced nerves. We ate a delicious Pad Thai on a balcony overlooking the spiderweb of wires that passes for an electrical grid and then said our good byes to Dave, Landon and Johann... Off to new adventures we were headed North. Our flight would only be an hour and 20 minutes, a cake walk given some of the endurance treks i have endured to cross an underdeveloped country.
Arriving with a good 2 hours at the domestic terminal of the Ho Chi Minh airport was mistake number one. This fuckless hole in the ground lacked even the most basic of ammenities at the check in level, boasting a glass counter at which soft brown spotted fruit slowly fermented under the glare of the overhead florescents and the bored attendant dazed to the keening buzz of a machine that appears to exist to wrap luggage and packages in thin layers of polyethylene plastic. What purpos4e this serves is beyond me but the Vietnamese seem to love the service. Attempting to check in to our flight was similar to boarding a 99 B-line bus on September 5th at 8am at Commercial station when UBC has started its fall semester. ie. all sense of human manners as propriety developed over the past 10,000 years of cultural development take a back seat top a "me first" attitude, I cursed under my breath as we finally approached a wicket to be informed our flight was 2 hours delayed. Yay, socialist communism! This also began our constant shunting between standby wickets and solid plastic chairs designs to be sat in comfortably for exactly 2 minutes and 45 seconds. With 2 hours to go we tried to nap. Hungry. Thirsty. Sober. This fucking sucks.
We didn't get a seat on the first early flight to Hue, which made me wonder where the hell all the other passengers were. Is this cause we're white? Fuck. Can't thin like that. These are a lovely gracious people who have welcomed us into their country in order to share their lovely culture and take us for every penny... fuck it. Valium time.
I popped 4 Valium as Alexis found out we had made it onto the 645 flight. Time now.
6:45
Fuck... We rush to check in and then are informed while on the flight, it has been delayed an hour. We're handed our boarding passes and we head upstairs to breeze through security. I have to piss so i head to the head to take a slash... As i emerge from the single most foul airport washroom i have ever had the opportunity to grace with my urine, I mean i think my piss actually cleaned some of the trough style urinal into which I expelled it.... anyway... A lovely french tinged Vietnamese voice comes over the loud speaker announcing myself and Alexis as the last remaining passengers yet to board our "delayed" flight.
We run.
We make it. I'm apologizing yet fuming for an error that wasn't mine and we finally get seated and stowed as the Valium hits. sweet sweet mellow non-caring awesome... I could use a whiskey but I'll be happy if the plane gets off the ground let alone if it has a wet bar. A storm has descended and as we taxi onto the runway Lightning strobes, flashbulbs of crackling static and thunderous rumbles that play bass to the sheets of high-hat rain spattering on the wings. We take off in minor turbulence and i look up to see an odd misty smoke emanating from the wall 4 rows ahead of me. The Fear takes hold and my heart pounds. "That's it! The fucking planes on fire, we lost our engines and we;'re going down...." The valium at least keeps me in place and i look over at the stewardess sitting beside me. We're in an exit row and i'm ready to throw that fucking hatch wide open and ride the inflatable yellow slide to the ground like in the happy little brochure that sits in front of my seat...
(Remember Fight Club? Chuck Palahniuk knew that brochure is a pig-fucker. It lies through gritted teeth. It should feature a plane broken into thousands of parts, limbs and luggage, flotsam and jetsam, and survivors burning as they slide down what's left of that stupid cock sucking slide....)
Sooo.... the stewardess is calm and smiley... I sniff the air... I look at Alexis who is holding my hand.. "Do you smell mint?" I ask...
She says "Yah, a little...."
I then realize, the "smoke" is an aromatic mist with a soothing mint smell.
WHAT. THE. FUCK!?
Have these people never heard of a glade plug in? I thought the goddamn plane was on fire, take offs and landings are statistically the times of highest risk for an air plane and they decide to pump minty smoke like mist into the cabin to w. We're ok. We get to cruising altitude and get a free bottle of water. It's 300ml. I hate this airline.
***
We get into Hue airport around 9pm and disembark with little hassle, except when i had already paid a mini-bus ticket girl who then wandered off and i was sure she had ripped us off. mean while we were being accosted on all sides by taxi drivers who definitely wanted to rip us off. Alexis calms me down and with the assistance of a guard we track down our bus-lady and secure passage into Hue.
The old capital of Vietnam (1802-1945), Hue is located smack in the centre of the country and is just outside of the infamous former demilitarized zone from the war of American Agression. Fuck it. read more about it here --> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hue,_Vietnam
Really cool info.
We meet Jess and Sean easily on a side street in a Cafe across from our gorgeous hotel suite. It's unfortunate we will only have a few days here. We unencumbered ourselves and headed down to the cafe for dranks. The rest of the evening is a grey haze beset on all sides by everyone chattering in the back ground and me coming to consciousness and saying... Ït's ok.. I'm not sleeping! In a hurried desperate tone of voice, then passing back out.
Welcome to Hue.
To Hue... The eating of hearts... I can see their fucking eyes...
Woke up buzzing, the sun blazed from above and streamed through the double French Doors of our balcony overlooking a narrow awning covered alley of sorts. Urban space is never wasted in Vietnam and even in small cities the most unlikely side-street, alley, narrow path, or walkway will lead you through a wondrous rabbit warren of micro-neighbourhoods assaulting your senses with the smells of the lives of those who live there. Here, you are as likely to find an amazing guesthouse or a nice salon down an alley a Downtown Eastside junkie might shy away from.
Today the plan was 4 moto-scooters, Jess had hired guides and they were going to give us a back-of-the-bike tour of Hue and her surroundings. We started off at a dock, climbing aboard and well kept if not aged dragon boat. However this Dragon Boat was not driven by high-powered and upwardly mobile corporate teams across False Creek. Nope. Just diesel and and what sounds like a Cessna engine from 2 feet away. The trip downriver was boring and uneventful, and our only interactions with the boats inhabitants was a short low pressure sales spiel to try to sell us some trinkets. I have no need for more trinkets. Unless they are awesome. I will accept awesome trinkets but alas she had none.
Pulling up to a small docking point we de-boarded and made our way up to our first stop. Thien Mu Pagoda. It has 7 tiers, is quite tall and older than your grandpa's dad. It is on the grounds of a functioning monastery and also has the Aston Mini that was driven to Saigon by Thích Quảng Đức, who subsequently immolated himself in order to protest the war in Vietnam. (See: Rage Against the Machine's debut CD cover - Way to capitalize on that you hypocrites)
After perusing the rest of the grounds we exited to the parking lot to be picked up by four scooter drivers who then took us on a round the region tour on the back of their motos. Trying our best to get into the Easy rider spirit, it was difficult to feel the rebel flair on a 150cc honda with a full helmet wearing a bright purple rain parka. I figured i could make it up at the bar later.
The tour ended at a massive Citadel. The seat of the Nguyen emperors was in the Citadel, which occupies a large, walled area on the north side of the river. Inside the citadel was a forbidden city where only the concubines, emperors, and those close enough to them were granted access, the punishment for trespassing being death. Today, little of the forbidden city remains, which we found frustrating as we slogged trough foot deep warm swampy puddles of reddish water searching the grounds for things of note. Nothing to note. Except the $5 USD i gave to a man in a dark temple for some incense. Due to my general dampness and tired exasperation I failed to realize until it was to late that $5 USD is about 1/6th of what a skilled worker makes in a month I probably made him quite happy. For the cost of a beer at home i bought a mans family food for a few days. I guess that's pretty cool.
I'm still a little bitter though.
***
That night we ate at an amazing restaurant elevated 3 metres off the ground on stilts. Having thoroughly dried off from our earlier tour we dug into whole fresh grilled fish and an intoxicating plate of Morning Glory Greens sauteed in a garlic sauce. Both dishes were the best food food i've eaten yet on the trip. As we gorged, chopsticks darting in and out of the fish nipping bits like wasps at a picnic our jovial server walked be an pointed at a mass of flesh we'd left off to the side. Having recognized the heart and larger organs of the fish we had in our Western way just moved them aside. "That's is the best part of the fish," he pointed out. "Vietnamese favorite."
So, of course i proceeded to pick up the heart to have a look, which prompted my companions to all start goading me into eating the largish dense fish bits. Given that my liquor levels were where they were at (I'm generally drunk 18 hours a day when i travel) and my adventurous foodie nature, i popped the heart et al into my mouth and bit down.
The texture was at first dense almost gristly but then the meat yielded and a sublime foie gras meets veal texture presented itself. The flavour was liver like and not at all fishy. Completely self-satisfied i took a big swig of my beer and smiled. Satisfied, our server smiled back and for all i knew perhaps even the Vietnamese don't eat that part of the fish and this was all a huge joke on the Barang. Having been to their markets though: I highly doubted this was the case...
We headed back to the hotel after this, drunkenly stumbling into at a children's recital glorifying Vietnam and Uncle Ho (Huge Ho Chi Minh festival was occurring all week) and stopping in what we suspect was a prostitute bar, which ostensibly is no big deal given their prominence in Asia, it just seemd odd that we were the only customers at first and then it clicked when we observed a number of women milling about. We were served politely and then ignored. Sometimes that's the best kind of service. Alexis had to pee, which is why we stopped in the first place, and when nature called i took the opportunity to use the "facilities" there.
Now, the concept of bathroom/toilet in Vietnam falls under any number of definitions. Many times at a roadside restaurant you will pass through a family's house, living room, kitchen etc before coming to their facilities and very much unlike the West, no one would think to say "no" when one requests a toilet. This was true not only in restaurants but pretty much every store we went into. For a country that is always asking, "You come into my store and buy something..." "Hey lady, you like scarf..." etc, it was very rare to have to pay to use the toilet. Now... The toilet itself. It might be fully western, but it may not flush, in which case the huge bucket of water beside it with a smaller bucket will do the job. Toilet paper is a luxury and if you have none, enjoy either a) the same water bucket you flush with (ewww) or b) a high pressure cold hose attached to the wall (effective and not as gross) (We all learned to take TP with us at all times) Just as often there was no toilet, merely a large ceramic hole that one squats over then repeats the above steps re: flushing/wiping.
Back to the toilet at hand.
So, like always the toilet is at the rear of the bar, through a living space, past the motorcycle parking and around a corner. I pull open the rickety door and "Hey! Look... a real toilet... cool...' I stand and deliver and then as my eyes adjust to the dark I notice every inch of the space outside of standing range is covered with spiderwebs in which spindly legged spiders the size of a small plum are standing there watching me. The worst part is i can see them watching me because i can SEE THEIR FUCKING EYES!
Do you know how unnerving it is to look into a spiders eyes form 12 inches away while pissing? I'm not much of an arachnophobe but holy fuck. I turned my head to the left and the webs were larger and there were more, many many more... Why these numerous arachnids hadn't entered into some cannibalistic death match was beyond me ( I did notice that there were no other insects in the vicinity though... Hmmmm) I finished as quick as i could and got the fuck out.
We had to catch a bus early the next day to Hoi An so it was bed time. Having learned the larger of the two beds had a mattress akin to sleeping on cardboard over top of straw we chose the smaller one and slept well into the next morning when my god forsaken alarm clock went of at a lovely 5:30am.
***
Today the plan was 4 moto-scooters, Jess had hired guides and they were going to give us a back-of-the-bike tour of Hue and her surroundings. We started off at a dock, climbing aboard and well kept if not aged dragon boat. However this Dragon Boat was not driven by high-powered and upwardly mobile corporate teams across False Creek. Nope. Just diesel and and what sounds like a Cessna engine from 2 feet away. The trip downriver was boring and uneventful, and our only interactions with the boats inhabitants was a short low pressure sales spiel to try to sell us some trinkets. I have no need for more trinkets. Unless they are awesome. I will accept awesome trinkets but alas she had none.
Pulling up to a small docking point we de-boarded and made our way up to our first stop. Thien Mu Pagoda. It has 7 tiers, is quite tall and older than your grandpa's dad. It is on the grounds of a functioning monastery and also has the Aston Mini that was driven to Saigon by Thích Quảng Đức, who subsequently immolated himself in order to protest the war in Vietnam. (See: Rage Against the Machine's debut CD cover - Way to capitalize on that you hypocrites)
After perusing the rest of the grounds we exited to the parking lot to be picked up by four scooter drivers who then took us on a round the region tour on the back of their motos. Trying our best to get into the Easy rider spirit, it was difficult to feel the rebel flair on a 150cc honda with a full helmet wearing a bright purple rain parka. I figured i could make it up at the bar later.
The tour ended at a massive Citadel. The seat of the Nguyen emperors was in the Citadel, which occupies a large, walled area on the north side of the river. Inside the citadel was a forbidden city where only the concubines, emperors, and those close enough to them were granted access, the punishment for trespassing being death. Today, little of the forbidden city remains, which we found frustrating as we slogged trough foot deep warm swampy puddles of reddish water searching the grounds for things of note. Nothing to note. Except the $5 USD i gave to a man in a dark temple for some incense. Due to my general dampness and tired exasperation I failed to realize until it was to late that $5 USD is about 1/6th of what a skilled worker makes in a month I probably made him quite happy. For the cost of a beer at home i bought a mans family food for a few days. I guess that's pretty cool.
I'm still a little bitter though.
***
That night we ate at an amazing restaurant elevated 3 metres off the ground on stilts. Having thoroughly dried off from our earlier tour we dug into whole fresh grilled fish and an intoxicating plate of Morning Glory Greens sauteed in a garlic sauce. Both dishes were the best food food i've eaten yet on the trip. As we gorged, chopsticks darting in and out of the fish nipping bits like wasps at a picnic our jovial server walked be an pointed at a mass of flesh we'd left off to the side. Having recognized the heart and larger organs of the fish we had in our Western way just moved them aside. "That's is the best part of the fish," he pointed out. "Vietnamese favorite."
So, of course i proceeded to pick up the heart to have a look, which prompted my companions to all start goading me into eating the largish dense fish bits. Given that my liquor levels were where they were at (I'm generally drunk 18 hours a day when i travel) and my adventurous foodie nature, i popped the heart et al into my mouth and bit down.
The texture was at first dense almost gristly but then the meat yielded and a sublime foie gras meets veal texture presented itself. The flavour was liver like and not at all fishy. Completely self-satisfied i took a big swig of my beer and smiled. Satisfied, our server smiled back and for all i knew perhaps even the Vietnamese don't eat that part of the fish and this was all a huge joke on the Barang. Having been to their markets though: I highly doubted this was the case...
We headed back to the hotel after this, drunkenly stumbling into at a children's recital glorifying Vietnam and Uncle Ho (Huge Ho Chi Minh festival was occurring all week) and stopping in what we suspect was a prostitute bar, which ostensibly is no big deal given their prominence in Asia, it just seemd odd that we were the only customers at first and then it clicked when we observed a number of women milling about. We were served politely and then ignored. Sometimes that's the best kind of service. Alexis had to pee, which is why we stopped in the first place, and when nature called i took the opportunity to use the "facilities" there.
Now, the concept of bathroom/toilet in Vietnam falls under any number of definitions. Many times at a roadside restaurant you will pass through a family's house, living room, kitchen etc before coming to their facilities and very much unlike the West, no one would think to say "no" when one requests a toilet. This was true not only in restaurants but pretty much every store we went into. For a country that is always asking, "You come into my store and buy something..." "Hey lady, you like scarf..." etc, it was very rare to have to pay to use the toilet. Now... The toilet itself. It might be fully western, but it may not flush, in which case the huge bucket of water beside it with a smaller bucket will do the job. Toilet paper is a luxury and if you have none, enjoy either a) the same water bucket you flush with (ewww) or b) a high pressure cold hose attached to the wall (effective and not as gross) (We all learned to take TP with us at all times) Just as often there was no toilet, merely a large ceramic hole that one squats over then repeats the above steps re: flushing/wiping.
Back to the toilet at hand.
So, like always the toilet is at the rear of the bar, through a living space, past the motorcycle parking and around a corner. I pull open the rickety door and "Hey! Look... a real toilet... cool...' I stand and deliver and then as my eyes adjust to the dark I notice every inch of the space outside of standing range is covered with spiderwebs in which spindly legged spiders the size of a small plum are standing there watching me. The worst part is i can see them watching me because i can SEE THEIR FUCKING EYES!
Do you know how unnerving it is to look into a spiders eyes form 12 inches away while pissing? I'm not much of an arachnophobe but holy fuck. I turned my head to the left and the webs were larger and there were more, many many more... Why these numerous arachnids hadn't entered into some cannibalistic death match was beyond me ( I did notice that there were no other insects in the vicinity though... Hmmmm) I finished as quick as i could and got the fuck out.
We had to catch a bus early the next day to Hoi An so it was bed time. Having learned the larger of the two beds had a mattress akin to sleeping on cardboard over top of straw we chose the smaller one and slept well into the next morning when my god forsaken alarm clock went of at a lovely 5:30am.
***
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