After my easy sleep trip to Nha Trang, I felt pretty confident in my ability to rock the night bus (rock as in rocking a baby to sleep, as it so happens). But after days of swimming in a sea that became increasingly dirty, a huge tragedy occurred: I developed an ear infection. In regards to the bus ride, this meant that no matter which way I moved my head, I was in pain: compounded by the fact that I was on the bottom level that was too short for me to sit up in (and just for fun, my chair was broken and couldn’t move into an upright position).
Basically, by the time I arrived in Hoi An, I was straight up miserable. Then, the hotel said check-in didn’t open until 12:30, and considering it was 7:30 am when I arrived…well, things weren’t looking up. Fortunately, the lobby had many chairs available for collapsing in, so I took advantage of that. The guy behind me on the bus happened to be staying at the same hostel, so when I had gathered enough energy, we headed off in search of a street breakfast. Vietnam has many sidewalk entrepreneurs, some of whom set up plastic tables and chairs (of a size usually intended for toddlers in America) and serve you their specialty for a price usually under $2. The one we found was $1 (or $1.50 for massive meat portion), and it was fantastic. This trip, I have eaten much more street food then last year, and considering last time i was disgustingly sick twice; I guess I should have been doing it more back then.
When we returned to the hotel, I once again collapsed in the lobby chair, and soon found myself surrounded by Americans (i.e. 2 besides myself). One girl kind of just appeared and started talking to me; I mentioned I was going to take the shuttle to town, and she said she might do that as well; once we got to town, we never split up, and we ended up sticking together for the rest of my trip. That’s another funny thing about traveling solo– sometimes when you meet people, you stay together without ever really acknowledging that you are staying together. After hanging around for the the whole morning together, I was in the dressing room and wanted to call out to her for her opinion when I realized I didn’t know her name; we had never actually introduced ourselves (hereby referred to as N). Best excuse for forgetting someone’s name is to never actually hear it in the first place.
At least ours didn’t look as badly as these guys…
Then together, we ended up being pressured into getting the specialty of Hoi An- tailor made clothes. I had actually researched the different shops, and had a solid idea of where I wanted to go. But when the women start coming up and persuading you to come into their store…well, your intentions go out the window. Both of us ended up ordering winter coats, and after two fittings (the second of which had to be the last due to our departure date), we both found ourselves a bit disappointed. The sleeves on mine were about an inch too short, and the jacket was a bit tight– which would be fine if it weren’t a winter coat meant for layering. Still, I don’t think I regret doing it, because I would have left wondering what could have been.
Despite the tailoring let-down, Hoi An ended up being one of of my favorite places, partly due to the group that built up during our time there. The first night in Hoi An, a huge drunken birthday party ended in the hostel corridor outside my room around 4 in the morning; even spilling into our room at one point. Despite nothing being quite as exciting as a random drunk dude walking into your room and saying, “What are you guys doing?;” I joined N in switching rooms, and (besides my bed having a large patch of black mold above it) was all the better for it. We were joined in the new room by 4 more Brit girls; I have since decided that Welsh is my new favorite accent because it just sounds so happy. Anyway, Hoi An was very idyllic, with the best weather, beaches, and biking that I had seen yet in Vietnam.
After shoving our winter coats into backpacks clearly intended for summer travels, N and I were joined by E (or Harry Potter, as he so unfortunately gets called) on the way to Hue (that’s a pun for Hera Potter to make). We had heard (probably all from seat61.com, a very useful traveling site) that the train to Hue was one of the most scenic routes in S.E. Asia, so we took a break from the usual bus rides to try it out. We tried to make reservations for the right side of the train, but were told we couldn’t select our seats, so we left it to chance. When the time finally came, we first had to take a rented car full of 80s tunes to the station; after crossing the most cluttered tracks in the world, we found our train car to be of the very…old variety, full of enthusiastic Vietnamese. There was one old man who didn’t appear too enthusiastic, and he happened to hold the ticket to the seat next to mine. I sat down in some disappointment, but cheered up once I realized I was still in a window seat on the right side of the train. Until the train started, and I realized our car was facing backwards. Ah, well. On the plus side, the man next to me did cheer up a bit; he asked me some questions (or rather, he mumbled something that might have been English or Vietnamese or even French; I just answered based on the questions I assumed he might be asking). Then he took a picture of me looking pensively out the window (which of course I knew he was taking, and posed pensively as a reaction).
Hue itself turned out to be a bit lackluster, except for two situations both involving food. The first occurred on the first night out, and it might serve as dark humor to remind wanderlusts out there that sometimes travel has its downsides. The three of us went to eat at a seafood restaurant by the river, since there were a lot of cool stalls lit up nicely and we hadn’t eaten well on the train (also, when traveling, I generally avoid telling people that I dislike seafood, since there are already a lot of picky eaters as it is). So our food had arrived when I realized my stomach was hurting (okay, let’s be honest, it had been hurting for awhile), and I excused myself to find a bathroom. I had to wander down the market before finding what amounts to a pay-port-a-potty. The place was disgusting and horrendously hot, but I was at least thankful for my foresight to bring even the small amount of tissues that I had. But as I left, I realized in horror that there was no place for hand washing. I’m not OCD about many things, but anyone who has seen me pet my dogs and immediately wash my hands after knows I like my digital hygiene. I tried to swallow my disgust and figured that at least they use chopsticks in Vietnam, so I could keep far away from my food. When I returned, I sat down and saw my order–what I thought were soft Vietnamese pancakes were more like hard-shell tacos. I kept trying to get at them with my chopsticks, even stabbing at them, but the shape and texture created a struggle. E saw my situation and just said, “Hands.” One word made the blood drain from my face and caused my appetite to disappear, but I put on a brave front and ordered a second beer, hoping the alcohol might kill whatever germs lay festering in my stomach.
The second Hue event was far less gruesome. N and I went off the next day to a nearby market. I wanted to try some of the food at one of the stalls, but N, being a gluten-sensitive pescetarian (as well as full of jackfruit), decided to just sit with me. Still, the lady excitedly ushered us in, and soon the women around us were trying to have us buy things; one woman even brought us drinks without even asking us first. And the woman whose stall I sat at just brought me a dish without asking as well. Then she brought another. And another. Often, street stalls in Vietnam specialize in just one dish, which I had thought was the case here. But clearly, this woman was going to keep stuffing food down my throat until I very forcibly said no (which I did with a lot of waving of the arms). So her happy demeanor turned serious, and she began counting plates–and I began to worry about the damage done, wondering if I had enough money. The cost turned out to be 250,000 dong*, which is around $12. In Japan, you might think this quite a cheap meal, but in Vietnam, I could have easily eaten for 2 days at that price. I paid in shock (or rather, I borrowed money from N in shock), but I later laughed as I thought about how gleeful that woman must have been when I walked into her life that day.
That night, we hopped on another night bus bound for the capital city Hanoi. The bus seemed nicer than other night buses, but my enthusiasm drained as the conductor said, “Oh, three people? This way,” and proceeded to lead us to the back three seats; the only ones all jammed in together. I unfortunately had been standing in the middle, and naturally got stuck with the middle seat. This made me a little sad as it meant 1.) I had no view and 2.) I had to be careful not to move around too much, which requires a concentrated effort on my part. But before the sleep proceedings even took place, we braked (breaked?) at a rest stop that had a fair amount of cafeteria food. The selection didn’t look too bad, but I decided to play it safe with the simplest thing I could find on the menu: fried chicken. This is what I got.
See that meat in the top left?
After I pulled off the “fried” part, which was basically about an inch thick skin, I was left with that picturesque piece of meat. N, already not a meat fan, tried not to gag or make too many penile comments. The laconic Lithuanian looked at it and firmly said, “Don’t eat that.” Fortunately, I was still pretty full from my humongous market lunch, so I was able to take that advice without much concern. I even tried giving the skin to a beggar dog, but even he was like, “Nah man, that’s alright.”
When we arrived at Hanoi, it was pouring rain, but we weren’t too concerned. After N and I found a hotel and the rain lightened up, we wandered around until check-in time. After resting a bit, we discussed going out to find food; only when we went downstairs, we found the streets flooded up to the knees. Not ideal for sight-seeing, and not particularly good for participating in blog-worthy activities.
We were, however, able to book a two-day tour for Ha Long Bay the next day, which I had been looking forward to for awhile. The weather wasn’t great, but it wasn’t raining, and our boat seemed secure enough. But it was a little strange that the first thing they did when we got on the boat was sit all of us (about 20 people) around one long table and served us lunch. It was one of those trips where you got to know everyone pretty fast, and we had a pretty international group–American, Canadian, Chinese, French, Danish, Argentinian, Chilean, British…maybe even more that I’m forgetting. The first lunch wasn’t the quickest bonding activity, as everyone did the awkward introductions** that you get so used to traveling, but after a cave tour and a quick kayaking jaunt, the boat anchored, and the tour guide announced we could go swimming. People tentatively made their way in (okay, I did, and then one person briefly followed). But then the tour guide looked at one passenger and said, “You can jump off the side, you know.” We didn’t know. But I can assure you, we took advantage of the invitation, and that’s when best friends were born. How could not happen after organizing synchronized jumps off of a 3-story junk?
That night, we even joined up with another boat’s drinking game (similar to Grand Poobah, for those who have played it, only much sloppier). I wasn’t drinking, so I found the game a little more tedious than some of the others–but one of my favorite moments was when the Canadian girl from our boat turned to me and said, “I have to go to the bathroom.” She then went to the ledge of the boat (where people previously jumped off of), and turned back to me to ask, “Do you think it’s okay if I just go here?” I didn’t quite know what to say, but then, I don’t think she cared. Maybe she thought she was pretty good at peeing standing up, and would easily clear the side of the boat (she wasn’t, and she didn’t). Even after the entire rest of the boat realized what she was doing and began making comments, she still wasn’t bothered. She finished up, then immediately sauntered over and sat on the lap of the guy she had hooked up with the week before.
Selfie!
The next day, the weather was much better, and a few of us woke early for some pre-breakfast boat ledge jumps. The rest of the tour was mostly a ride back into the dock, but it was a beautiful day for it. After an overly long lunch trip in Ha Long City, we finally made it back to Hanoi.
The rest of the trip passed fairly quickly. I did a photo tour of the city on my own, since I really hadn’t had much solo time since meeting people in Hoi An. It was good to wander, but it was so damn hot. Even in the evening, when N and I went to the night market, it was almost suffocating with people and humidity. For the first time, I really felt ready for the end of my trip to come, though I was a bit shocked when it actually came sooner than I thought (see: “I’ve made a huge mistake“). But on the last afternoon, I randomly happened to run into E (who had booked a different hostel from us in the city) outside of my hotel. We went to get boba, and I was delighted when once again, someone on staff pointed at him and said, “Same same Harry Potter!” Hilarious. You could say it was almost…magical.
I then spent the next 24 hours getting back to Japan (3 flights + 6 hours in-between each, with a couple of hours of delay thrown in for fun), but this time I didn’t get a free pass into China. To be honest, I probably would have been too tired for it. Overall, though, I feel like my 3 weeks in Vietnam were pretty successful. I met a lot of cool people, ate a bunch of weird food, and didn’t throw up once (vast improvement from last year). Next month’s adventures should be fairly entertaining as well, I imagine (should the country ever decide to let me in).
*Yes, dong is the real name of the currency. And no, I actually made surprisingly few jokes about it.
**Examples: Where are you from? Where have you been? Where are you going? Are you traveling alone? Where are you staying? What have you eaten?
P.S. One of my friends (*cough* Erin *cough*) told me my blogs were a bit long and sometimes disjointed. Just so it’s clear; I’m very lazy, and often write these blogs in bits and pieces, so I’m sorry about that. Also, I’m fine with this not being a blurb blog, but for you who tough it out and make it to the end: good show, ol’ chaps; and of course, you can come claim those kisses I always promise you for sticking it out. :*
whereisjillian 