Vietnam: Unpredictable, Beautiful, Wild

It’s the bloody apocalypse!” yelped a British accent through the sound of engines and whipping wind. We were whizzing across a bridge, clinging to our drivers tighter than their ‘Professional Motorbike Tours’ pinafores. Below us ran the Perfume River which cuts through the city of Hue in central Vietnam. The view to the right was just an emotive slogan away from a Communist propaganda poster. Small wooden boats carried women in conical hats on waters reflecting a vibrant sky. But to the Left, ominous storm clouds brewed like dark Vietnamese coffee. Cool plops of drizzle cooled my sweaty arms and face. Thunder roared. I felt my driver’s slender frame grow tense and his laconic driving style took a frantic turn.

We raced into the hurricane that passes as a traffic circle in Vietnam. “I hope it doesn’t rain,” ye lied my driver, texting with one hand. I had to agree, thinking vaguely of times that were truly ‘bloody’ and ‘apocalyptic’ and shelter was sought from worse than rain. Since its birth, Vietnam has thrown off China, France and Japan before a Cold War-era proxy war brought the fresh horrors of chemical warfare and chilling guerrilla tactics. The Vietnam War, known in Vietnam as the American War, is only a small part of the character of this ‘Communist’ nation but is of interest to the latest invaders: tourists.

THE JOURNEY BEGINS – My mother and I arrived in humid August for a ten day tour from Hanoi in the north to Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) in the south. Our route would be different but our start and end points matched those of the North Vietnamese Army in their travels across the 17th parallel along the secret Ho Chi Minh trail. This was mom’s fourth trip with G-Adventures, a tour company she favours for seeing a lot in a short time’.

We met the group in a hotel in frenetic, sweaty Hanoi, amidst mad two-wheeled traffic, karaoke bars and low hanging knots of electrical wires. The dairy farming couple from Ireland greeted us cheerfully from behind beers. A bald, tattooed pot-bellied man and a petite woman with large glasses introduced themselves as Dave and Susan from England. Four twenty-something girls from London and Sydney had already gathered in a giggly clique and were trying one another’s cocktails. We were headed next morning to Ha Long Bay. It was a four hour bus drive east to the Gulf of Tonkin.

BOATING THROUGH DRAGON DEBRIS – Had Homer Simpson dropped some radioactive material into the water at the harbour, it wouldn’t have been much murkier. We puttered off anxiously in a small wooden boat. The Cocktail Sippers looked unimpressed in their orange life jackets. Dave suffered so badly in the heat that he had taken to soaking a facecloth in water and draping it over his head. The water got clearer further out in the bay and we soon arrived at a lovely air-conditioned ship. Stretched out in sun chairs, we watched in awe as 1969 beautiful, uninhabited limestone islands rose majestically out of the quiet bay.

It’s a conveniently significant (suspicious) number because 1969 is also the year of the death of Ho Chi Minh, Communist revolutionary and former president of North Vietnam. Ha Long literally translates to ‘descending dragon’. It is said that an emperor asked a dragon to help defend Vietnam against invasion. A jet of emeralds sprayed from the dragon’s mouth, sinking the enemy ships. Even a pleasure cruise in Vietnam is bruised by a history of quashed invasions. Now the only unwanted intruders are the foolish tourists who jump off cruise ships whilst drunk or leave graffiti in Ha Long’s ancient caves.

OVERNIGHT ON THE RODENT EXPRESS – Just as we got our sea legs it was time to develop some rail legs. In a fluster of heat and bother, we boarded an overnight train. Our guide knew how to manage pampered tourists. His catch phrase, ‘Embrace the bizarre!’ chimed out through the carriage as he poured out cups of cheap vodka. Dave apologised in advance for his snoring. The walk to the bar at the far end of the train put any complaints about our first class cabins in grim perspective. The climax of the journey was the appearance of a mouse amongst the sheets of one of the Cocktail Sippers. Her shrieks almost caused the noodle salesman to overturn his trolley in the corridor. It was pleasant to lie in the little beds in the morning, rocked by the trundling train, and watch the countryside slide by.

HUE ON TWO WHEELS – Next morning we found our drivers waiting outside the hotel. They clipped on our helmets and we charged off in a long line. Our tour took us to French and American bunkers, the Royal Tomb and the Imperial Citadel but the experience of Vietnam’s most popular means of transport outshone them all. We drew stares weaving through back alleys past women hanging washing, disrupted the peace on shaded forest trails and glided along antediluvian rice paddies. Everywhere people dried rice, spreading it like yellow butter on the hot tar, reducing main roads to narrow one-ways. They worked beneath a profusion of red flags displaying the hammer and sickle. Vietnam may still claim to be Communist but rice is no longer centrally purchased by the government.

Farmers here can sell to private companies and overseas buyers. My mother and her French speaking driver got on famously. The sound of their jocular rendition of ‘Frere Jacques’ rang out above the chug of engines. Our final stop in Hue was the Tien Mu Pagoda. This was once the home of the monk Thich Ouang Due. On the 10th of June 1963, Thich Ouang Due drove from this pagoda to Saigon, sat down in the lotus position at a busy intersection and covered himself in petrol. Witnesses say he was silent and stationary as he burnt himself to death. He was protesting the religious oppression of Buddhists by Catholic, South Vietnamese president Ngo Dinh Diem. Photographs of the incident had an international impact. There at Tien Mu stands the car he drove that day.

TAILOR TOWN TRAVELS – The journey from Hue to Hoi An takes you over the Hai Van Pass. The view from the mountainside down across the jungle to the ocean is so beautiful that even Jeremy Clarkson managed to stop complaining long enough to proclaim its magnificence. In the distance a tower of smoke rose from behind a hill, filling my head with images from war films. Inspired by the view, our guide filled the remainder of the journey with excited descriptions of the Top Gear Vietnam special.

We were relieved by our arrival at Hoi An, the town of same-day tailor shops and travel-tarnished backpackers. The town did charm me but not because of the riverside bars or the hanging silk lanterns. A gent le, matter of fact woman measured me up in her tailor shop while her children watched the Minion movie in the next room. She produced the dress that same day and I tried it on in a curtained off area where their heights through the years were marked in pencil on the wall.

THE SAIGON LEGACY – With a short flight, we left behind the Happy Hour specials of Hoi An and began an excursion into the history of Ho Chi Minh City. The stagnant smell of tourist sweat that pumped through the air-conditioning system in the crowded War Remnants Museum seemed appropriate for the harrowing subject matter. Thoughtfully curated photographs create a viscera l understanding of American misconduct, especially the use of Agent Orange. The Cu Chi Tunnels, used by the Viet Cong as a hiding place and transport network during the war, were located just outside the city and a section has been preserved.

The guide who took us there was the antithesis to the museum. A former communications officer for the Americans, and still loyal to the West, Hai recalls that at age seventeen he was happily recruited because, ‘They gave me cigarettes, hamburgers, and money for beer.” Hai showed us examples of terrifying traps set by the VC and declared the model soldiers inaccurate because ‘Communists are much uglier! ’He looked about him anxiously and whispered that he had been in a re-education camp after reunification.

The atmosphere at the tunnels is heightened by the constant drone of gunfire. Tourists can choose from a selection of surplus American guns and shoot live ammo at a target. The bullets are sold alongside ice cream and postcards. It seems a strange legacy for a bloody war. Back in Hue, the storm broke. Rain pelted down on our helmets and made the road slick. A soaked old man pedaled patiently on a bicycle loaded with building materials. Three monks on a motorbike dashed for cover. It wasn’t apocalyptic. It was delicious.