February 17th, 2009
I had a great time in Hoi An but it seems most of the adventure in my trip occurs while moving from A to B, and the journey from Hoi An, Vietnam, to Vientiane, Laos, was one of epic proportions.
I got picked up by a van in Hoi An and was put in the back seat with what looked like two locals. They made no friendly advances so I just sat in silence for a while and was about to pull out my ipod when they started chatting in fluent English. North American accents to boot. Turns out the guy next to me was Seth, a Vietnamese-American, and the next guy over was Bryan, a Vietnamese-Singaporean. Score one point for not making assumptions about people. I ended up having quite a long chat with these guys over the next four hours back to Hue, but first something even more startling happened.
I'd been making the foundational traveler small talk with Seth for about ten minutes when I realized he was cradling a cardboard box with a monkey in it. I thought my eyes were fooling me the first few times I saw bobbing movement, but when monkey made a quick peep outside, I could not suppress my curiosity any longer.
"...and so that's when we were going to leave Saigon --"
"Excuse me, Seth, but do you have a monkey in that box?"
"Yes."
"I thought so."
"So we were leaving Saigon..."
Total deadpan. Monkey-in-the-box was, apparently, the most natural thing in the world. I got the whole story later on: turns out Seth and Bryan met "a man" in Saigon who told the sad story of monkey's mother's death. Baby monkey was alone in the world with no one to care for him. If Seth and Bryan didn't step up, who would? On top of this they had bought motorbikes off two Spaniards in Saigon and had driven halfway to Hanoi with monkey. In Hoi An, however, they had to ship the bikes up and take the bus. Why? Because monkey was tired and scared of motorbikes (he apparently loved the first two days, at least). This might sound crazy to you, and it did to me, but whatever you think of monkeys on motorbikes these guys ultimately did change course entirely to make monkey comfortable.
To further put all of this in context, these two guys were not your average travelers. Seth had been on the road and settling down sporadically for nine years, Bryan for five. They had met somewhere along the way and become good mates. They were on their way up to Sapa to start a sustainable mini-community. Bryan had been the owner of a monkey previously, but had to leave that monkey with friends when he left Thailand, so he had some monkey-care experience. And the longer I observed the odd trio, the more I became comfortable with the whole thing. Monkey seemed especially comfortable with them, at least, if not with the rest of us. When he finally got out of his box he fell peacefully asleep on their laps. Truly happy to be off the motorbikes. Monkey might have a new fear, though, that of small blonde girls, because the 5-year-old Swedish girl who got to play with monkey for a bit had the eyes nearly bugging out of her head with excitement and happiness. Monkey was less amused. No joke, though, this girl's elder brother turns around from front of the van and asks, "Excuse me, can my sister play with your monkey?"
...
I wanted to shout, scream, ululate from the mountain tops to the rice paddies: "That's what she said!"
But I didn't. I was handed monkey and then handed monkey onward. It was the only time I handled monkey, despite my growing affinity. Monkey hadn't had his shots and I have strict reservations about unnecessary trips to the hospital. By all allowances monkey wasn't a biter, but who is to say monkey wouldn't become violently jealous of my rugged good looks? I took no chances.
Also on this van ride, I'll make quick mention, was one of two psychedelic Vietnam moments: when we got out of Hoi An proper and onto the road, the driver turned on the music and cranked up Creedance Clearwater Revival. I don't think anything says Vietnam War to the average American quite like CCR's "Fortunate Son", and to actually hear it full blast on the road not 20 km from the DMZ was quite the mind-bender.
The other psychedelic moment was a similar situation at a cafe in Hanoi where the staff was blasting the best of CCR for a couple hours on loop. Maybe I just have a thing for CCR. But then, who doesn't?
That van ride to Hue was the first of three legs to Vientiane. The second leg was a relatively painless bus ride from Hue to Vinh. Most people on the bus were headed all the way to Hanoi, so I was put in the very front seat so I could get off without hassle. Unfortunately this meant I was very much aware of imminent death every time the driver made an ill-timed attempt at overtaking the vehicle in front of us. After Ghana, I have a tendency to wet my pants when drivers get too aggressive.
At Vinh I was dropped at a rest stop to meet the bus to Vientiane. I had a premonition that I was probably going to get screwed on this bus, as tends to happen when you don't get on from the point of departure. I just didn't realize how very screwed I was going to be.
Now I told you about my hostel in HK. Worst ever. Hands down. But this bus ride gives HK a run for its money, and might have even been worse than my ride from Accra to middle-of-nowheresville (you know the one, Lee). The bus was already overrun when I got on, even the aisle was packed full. Sacks of rice and wheat, boxes of this and that, and limbs of all assortments graced every nook and cranny. I shoved my way about halfway into the back and sat down on a box. This was 10:30 pm. I would be stuck like this until about 6 am without reprieve. In the interim babies cried, people climbed over me, Vietnamese pop songs blasted full volume, police were bribed, people used my aisle/seat as their garbage can, the kid next to me stretched out for his comfort and my gross discomfort... he even took over my backpack/pillow when I momentarily lifted my head... and then, yes, ten minutes later he screamed over me down the bus, plastic bags were sent his way, and as soon as he got he began to vomit violently, mere inches from my face. Vomit fumes filled the air and he went back to sleep... vomit bag held precariously between sleeping, slipping fingers. It was around this time, about 3 am, the driver stopped off at his house for a shag and a nap. Taking the keys with him, we were deprived of the air-con, the only narrow sliver of respite afforded to the luckless passengers. The bus, already assaulting my olfactory senses with the aroma of stinky feet and sweaty flesh, now baked this powerful perfume to such an enhanced degree as to induce a comatose state... had I only been so lucky. Sleep was not my friend that night.
At 6 am the border opened and we could get off the purgatory-on-wheels. The disorganized border turned into a shoving match and things were beginning to wear on my frayed nerves. Anyone who knows me well enough can tell you that without an appropriate eight hours sleep I can be a bit crabby, to say the least. This border crossing was truly trial by fire... I emerged without my proverbial eye brows but sane enough to see. At 8 am we were back on the road, me on my box, for another long haul drive until we reached Vientiane at around 3:30 pm. It was tough, my backside still feels it, but I'm alive and in Laos, one of the hi-light destinations of my trip. More to come as the story progresses.
For the curious and conscientious, my number here is (0)20-730-3959, country code +856. I think. The first zero probably gets dropped. If it doesn't work and you must have your Kevin, the Google should provide. Talk to ya'll soon.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
No Scrubs
February 17th 2009
So I think I'm getting an inkling of what it feels like to be a lone woman in the bar/club. The motorbike and rickshaw drivers of any city in Vietnam naturally assume a walking person is actually a person naturally dying for their company and services, not unlike the hapless males who believe with stubborn persistence that the aforementioned woman is just waiting for their companionship. Likewise, they all seem absolutely astonished when told their services aren't required, or desired.
I was in Hue. I didn't want to be in Hue, but that's where my bus took me and dropped me off for several hours while waiting for the next bus to get me to my true destination, Hoi An. Conveniently, the bus company knew "just the place" for me to spend my time. After escaping, I moseyed over to the part of town with a big fortress that I'd seen from the bus on the way in.
It was here that I met Tri, the most persistent coolie I've met thus far. Tri trailed me for no less than 45 minutes, using all variety of wiles within his play book to get me in his rickshaw. When the normal overtures failed, Tri would approximate my journey and ride ahead. After I caught up he'd act surprised, like two old friends meeting again after too long a separation. When this failed, he pulled out a photo and letter from "a happy American" who he had become the greatest of friends with over an afternoon of jokes and site-seeing. Truly, the Caucasian in the photo looked ecstatic. I was even permitted to read his ebullient letter (written, no less, in flawless handwriting:
Dear Tri
Yesturay I had the gratest time...
Well, you see where I'm going with this. Undoubtedly, at some point in history an American or foreigner had become friends with a coolie and shared a letter and photo or two. Further, this coolie undoubtedly let his friends know how much easier this made getting other foreign customers. Sadly for Tri, however, the tactic is well and overly played out. I'm not sure what the next evolution of this gimmick might be but I can assure you that Tri and I will not be starting a website or social-networking apparatus.
So I didn't even get to see the fortress in Hue because it was closed for two hours while the staff went to lunch. I did meet the tragic caricature called "Tri", however, and I got to write this email, so I guess all's well that ends well.
So I think I'm getting an inkling of what it feels like to be a lone woman in the bar/club. The motorbike and rickshaw drivers of any city in Vietnam naturally assume a walking person is actually a person naturally dying for their company and services, not unlike the hapless males who believe with stubborn persistence that the aforementioned woman is just waiting for their companionship. Likewise, they all seem absolutely astonished when told their services aren't required, or desired.
I was in Hue. I didn't want to be in Hue, but that's where my bus took me and dropped me off for several hours while waiting for the next bus to get me to my true destination, Hoi An. Conveniently, the bus company knew "just the place" for me to spend my time. After escaping, I moseyed over to the part of town with a big fortress that I'd seen from the bus on the way in.
It was here that I met Tri, the most persistent coolie I've met thus far. Tri trailed me for no less than 45 minutes, using all variety of wiles within his play book to get me in his rickshaw. When the normal overtures failed, Tri would approximate my journey and ride ahead. After I caught up he'd act surprised, like two old friends meeting again after too long a separation. When this failed, he pulled out a photo and letter from "a happy American" who he had become the greatest of friends with over an afternoon of jokes and site-seeing. Truly, the Caucasian in the photo looked ecstatic. I was even permitted to read his ebullient letter (written, no less, in flawless handwriting:
Dear Tri
Yesturay I had the gratest time...
Well, you see where I'm going with this. Undoubtedly, at some point in history an American or foreigner had become friends with a coolie and shared a letter and photo or two. Further, this coolie undoubtedly let his friends know how much easier this made getting other foreign customers. Sadly for Tri, however, the tactic is well and overly played out. I'm not sure what the next evolution of this gimmick might be but I can assure you that Tri and I will not be starting a website or social-networking apparatus.
So I didn't even get to see the fortress in Hue because it was closed for two hours while the staff went to lunch. I did meet the tragic caricature called "Tri", however, and I got to write this email, so I guess all's well that ends well.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Hanoi - Meandering First Impressions
February 10th 2009
My first impressions of Hanoi have been pretty positive. Arriving off the train at 5am with no money, I was helped into town by some fellow passengers. They did me a favor trading me some extra CNY for Vietnamese Dong until I could find an ATM.
Rocking into central Hanoi just before dawn didn't exactly give me a good sense of the city, which is to say that it was quiet – too quiet. I got dropped off by Hoan Kiem Lake, a north-to-south stretch that centers around the Old Quarter and the French Quarter, the busiest places in Hanoi. I wandered the streets looking for my hostel and when I found it just before 6am I got into my room and crashed out until about noon.
Keeping odd hours and sleeping in random places tends to take a weird toll on you. I don't find that I sleep any more than I usually do, its just spaced out at more irregular intervals. I'm not finding it uncommon to sleep 10pm to 4am on a train/bus, finding my next bed and sleeping again for a few hours... or not, and then taking a good nap in the afternoon. It's quite refreshing, actually, not being tied to any given schedule, but I do have to plan ahead occasionally for certain sites or show times. For example, I almost slept through my 8pm water puppet show... I'm sure you can all relate :-P
One of the premier attractions of Hanoi is the famous water puppets. Basically the team of puppeteers stands behind a veil in a pool of water about three feet deep. From behind the veil various puppets poke out on poles and illustrate various classical scenes, such as the Dance of the Phoenixes or Early Morning Fishermen. The premise here is that back in the day when the rice paddies were flooded over this custom developed as a way to entertain during festivals and etc. Today it's mainly reproduced on a stage with an audience of foreigners but we also benefit from modern puppeteering technologies, like dry ice and fireworks. To be honest I thought the puppets on water would get old after a bit, but every scene produced brand new puppets with novel tricks so it was quite entertaining the whole way through. Two thumbs up for water puppets.
Hanoi the city is very nice, except for the exhaust. When I rolled out of bed the first day and stepped out of the hostel, I was overwhelmed with the change a few hours can make. Motorbikes are everywhere. Where there isn't a motorbike, there are bicycle rickshaws and cars. Faded crosswalks are merely remnants of a droll/bored bureaucrat. If you want to get anywhere, step out into the street and feel the motorbikes flow around you like a pebble had been dropped into their stream. Not for too long, however, because the taxis have no qualms about running you down.
Hanoi is not a very tall city from what I can see. I've stuck mostly to the Old and French Quarters, of course, and the buildings here are two- or three-storied affairs. The European influence is still here, but it feels like it's fading quickly as people renovate sporadically around the city. The Hanoi people are a lot of fun as well, at least compared to China. The first day or two when I steeled myself for a barter or to order a meal, the unexpectedly relaxed composure of my adversaries very much threw me off. This was followed by a day in which I couldn't tell if people were joking or being pricks, and finally now I am able to appreciate the Northern Vietnamese sense of humor.
Which isn't to say everyone here is a saint. The way I like to say it is thus: In China, they will angrily scam you until you're too scared to ask. In Vietnam, they'll still scam you but at least have the courtesy to do it with a smile.
Met some nice people in and out of my hostel. My first two days I had periodic chats with a Scottish girl who'd been on the road with her boyfriend for quite some time. They were heading up into China for a week or two before finishing their months-long trip and then to return to Scotland. I believe her name was Chavonne and I never got her boyfriend's name because he never acknowledged my existence. I suppose opposites really do attract. Then there was Lisa Lin from San Fran, the pleasant American girl who was yet another student in China. We had a few meals and drank a few beers together and traded things to do in Hanoi. We were walking through the Old Quarter on one evening and came across the strangest scene.
There is plenty of street food to be had in all the cities of the world, but on this night we walked in to a full-on street bar. At one quiet intersection (comparatively quiet, that is), the four corners had spilled out into the street a bit with stools full of foreigners sipping draft beer. I found out that this was called Beer Hoi, a special bootlegged beer that tastes like swill but gets the job done at 3000 Dong (17 cents) a cup. Shiver me timbers.
While drinking our Beer Hois I chatted up this entertaining Australian family trio; father daughter and son were traveling together for a month through Vietnam on what I suppose was their summer break. The high school-aged son was trying to convince dad to buy him a tailored purple silk suit for his prom, a proposition I fully endorsed, but I don't think it was meant to be. Some people just don't know opportunity when they see it. If I come home in a tailored purple silk suit, you'll know who to thank.
My last observation about Hanoi so far is that there are lots of old people. Old tourists, I mean. Granted most of them are European and thus more accustomed to travel, perhaps, but I'm still surprised to see such a large constituency of older tourists on the regular. And, moreover, staying in the same sorts of places that I'm staying. I haven't seen any in the dorm bunks, yet, but I've seen what the regular rooms look like and they're not exactly luxurious. Anyway, I hope I'm still that spry when I reach my golden years. For now, its more Beer Hoi for me.
My first impressions of Hanoi have been pretty positive. Arriving off the train at 5am with no money, I was helped into town by some fellow passengers. They did me a favor trading me some extra CNY for Vietnamese Dong until I could find an ATM.
Rocking into central Hanoi just before dawn didn't exactly give me a good sense of the city, which is to say that it was quiet – too quiet. I got dropped off by Hoan Kiem Lake, a north-to-south stretch that centers around the Old Quarter and the French Quarter, the busiest places in Hanoi. I wandered the streets looking for my hostel and when I found it just before 6am I got into my room and crashed out until about noon.
Keeping odd hours and sleeping in random places tends to take a weird toll on you. I don't find that I sleep any more than I usually do, its just spaced out at more irregular intervals. I'm not finding it uncommon to sleep 10pm to 4am on a train/bus, finding my next bed and sleeping again for a few hours... or not, and then taking a good nap in the afternoon. It's quite refreshing, actually, not being tied to any given schedule, but I do have to plan ahead occasionally for certain sites or show times. For example, I almost slept through my 8pm water puppet show... I'm sure you can all relate :-P
One of the premier attractions of Hanoi is the famous water puppets. Basically the team of puppeteers stands behind a veil in a pool of water about three feet deep. From behind the veil various puppets poke out on poles and illustrate various classical scenes, such as the Dance of the Phoenixes or Early Morning Fishermen. The premise here is that back in the day when the rice paddies were flooded over this custom developed as a way to entertain during festivals and etc. Today it's mainly reproduced on a stage with an audience of foreigners but we also benefit from modern puppeteering technologies, like dry ice and fireworks. To be honest I thought the puppets on water would get old after a bit, but every scene produced brand new puppets with novel tricks so it was quite entertaining the whole way through. Two thumbs up for water puppets.
Hanoi the city is very nice, except for the exhaust. When I rolled out of bed the first day and stepped out of the hostel, I was overwhelmed with the change a few hours can make. Motorbikes are everywhere. Where there isn't a motorbike, there are bicycle rickshaws and cars. Faded crosswalks are merely remnants of a droll/bored bureaucrat. If you want to get anywhere, step out into the street and feel the motorbikes flow around you like a pebble had been dropped into their stream. Not for too long, however, because the taxis have no qualms about running you down.
Hanoi is not a very tall city from what I can see. I've stuck mostly to the Old and French Quarters, of course, and the buildings here are two- or three-storied affairs. The European influence is still here, but it feels like it's fading quickly as people renovate sporadically around the city. The Hanoi people are a lot of fun as well, at least compared to China. The first day or two when I steeled myself for a barter or to order a meal, the unexpectedly relaxed composure of my adversaries very much threw me off. This was followed by a day in which I couldn't tell if people were joking or being pricks, and finally now I am able to appreciate the Northern Vietnamese sense of humor.
Which isn't to say everyone here is a saint. The way I like to say it is thus: In China, they will angrily scam you until you're too scared to ask. In Vietnam, they'll still scam you but at least have the courtesy to do it with a smile.
Met some nice people in and out of my hostel. My first two days I had periodic chats with a Scottish girl who'd been on the road with her boyfriend for quite some time. They were heading up into China for a week or two before finishing their months-long trip and then to return to Scotland. I believe her name was Chavonne and I never got her boyfriend's name because he never acknowledged my existence. I suppose opposites really do attract. Then there was Lisa Lin from San Fran, the pleasant American girl who was yet another student in China. We had a few meals and drank a few beers together and traded things to do in Hanoi. We were walking through the Old Quarter on one evening and came across the strangest scene.
There is plenty of street food to be had in all the cities of the world, but on this night we walked in to a full-on street bar. At one quiet intersection (comparatively quiet, that is), the four corners had spilled out into the street a bit with stools full of foreigners sipping draft beer. I found out that this was called Beer Hoi, a special bootlegged beer that tastes like swill but gets the job done at 3000 Dong (17 cents) a cup. Shiver me timbers.
While drinking our Beer Hois I chatted up this entertaining Australian family trio; father daughter and son were traveling together for a month through Vietnam on what I suppose was their summer break. The high school-aged son was trying to convince dad to buy him a tailored purple silk suit for his prom, a proposition I fully endorsed, but I don't think it was meant to be. Some people just don't know opportunity when they see it. If I come home in a tailored purple silk suit, you'll know who to thank.
My last observation about Hanoi so far is that there are lots of old people. Old tourists, I mean. Granted most of them are European and thus more accustomed to travel, perhaps, but I'm still surprised to see such a large constituency of older tourists on the regular. And, moreover, staying in the same sorts of places that I'm staying. I haven't seen any in the dorm bunks, yet, but I've seen what the regular rooms look like and they're not exactly luxurious. Anyway, I hope I'm still that spry when I reach my golden years. For now, its more Beer Hoi for me.
Night Trains and Custom Lanes
February 10th 2009
I've fallen a bit behind on my updates, or maybe too much has been going on in the past few days. Anyways I'm about to potentially flood your in-boxes while I take a day and a half out to chill before I leave Hanoi tomorrow night. Peruse at your leisure. Onwards.
I went from Hong Kong to Hanoi in three parts: the first was a high speed train from Hong Kong to Guangzhou, the second was an overnight train from Guangzhou to Nanning, and the final leg was the overnight train from Nanning to Hanoi. The first leg out of HK was uneventful enough, probably because the HK train station has the technical standards of any other developed country and everything ran smoothly. I was happy enough to leave my sad little Room 27 in Tsim Sha Tsui's Mirador Mansion and see what the proper mainland had in store for me.
Entering and leaving Hong Kong required several progressions of security and customs checks on both sides. Maybe I'm just sick of being trundled off and on my chosen mode of transportation for redundant security checks, but I'll be happy to see the end of check points once I get to Vietnam.
I suppose I got my first taste of the real China (as opposed to supremely urban Shanghai or hardly-China Hong Kong) when I arrived at Guangzhou Main Station. Guangzhou actually has two main train hubs and, having arrived at Guangzhou East, I needed to metro over to Guangzhou Main. Although HK and Guangzhou are only two hours apart by train, the differences are very pronounced. The spectrum of ethnicities immediately dropped back to near homogeneity. Hand-in-hand with that comes the undue attention to outsiders (yours truly). That's nothing new to me, but compared to the topical acceptance in Japan or the bemused curiosity in Ghana, this southern part of China was a mix of guarded interest or disdainful indifference (explanation to come).
As for the physical reality of the place: there are a lot of Chinese people. It's one thing to observe the 1.2 billion statistic and quite another to move from place to place and never see the glut of people let up. Also, what I've seen of China is both intensely dirty and surprisingly clean. There is no cultural stigma against littering, arguably quite the opposite, and having all the aforementioned multitudes constantly using any open spot of ground (or not so open) as a trash receptacle generates immense quantities of visible garbage. So much so that, walking around, I was always surprised that I wasn't already wading around waist-deep in the stuff.
The solution lies in the problem: with so many people they can afford to employ street cleaners constantly. Once it's been pointed out to you once (thanks Cornell) you realize that you can't walk down the street without seeing a few people with brooms and bags sweeping back and forth all day every day. Kudos to China for taking care of garbage, but I'd still enjoy seeing a civic campaign against littering in the future. Why? Because sweepers can't get everywhere, and they couldn't get into Guangzhou Main. Once I passed through security, I made my way to the "Waiting Lounge". This vast hall was last clean when they built the place. Searching for a clean seat I had to dance past apple cores, soda cans, cigarette butts, orange peels and sunflower seeds, to name a few. I believe that orange peels and sunflower seeds make up about 80% of this vice, especially dismal since the seeds have been in and out of people's mouths and spat into great heaps on the floor. I think (hope?) there is a future market in some sort of portable disposal unit for this sort of refuse.
I got to the station relatively early so I watched the lounge slowly fill up until, just prior to departure, the place was seriously overflowing with people. When they finally let us on the deluge predictably tried to shove it's way through the inadequate entry gate, so I just hung back and let things thin out before I made my way. There was an element of risk in this because I wasn't sure what exactly the etiquette regarding inter-city domestic travel in China was: perhaps the seat number on my ticket was a mere formality and the initial rush to board had been the true competition, unknown to my naive eyes. I had a bottom bunk hard-sleeper, more convenient than the middle or upper bunks but, alas, infamous for being used by everyone as spare seats before lights-out. I wasn't looking forward to politely asking any Chinese people to kindly remove themselves from my bed and the guy who was thusly enjoying himself when I arrived departed immediately and I never saw him again.
Although I had prepared for boredom, I was happy to find three Australians in the same set of sleepers as me. Moreover, they too were headed all the way to Hanoi where they were doing long-term volunteer stints in a variety of job placements. Tim the geologist/topographer, Claire the teacher and Linda the something-or-other were very pleasant people and shared with me lots of valuable information on how to get around Vietnam and Hanoi in particular. I owe them a great debt of thanks for saving my wallet many a Dong.
On this train I experienced some of the aforementioned disdainful indifference. This is putting it kindly, I believe, but I'll let you be the judge. I was having dinner and then a beer with Linda in the dining carriage. Linda is Vietnamese-Australian and thus often got the fifth degree in both Chinese and Vietnamese before anyone truly believed she was foreign and even then she received mostly usually disapproving annoyance. So when we had to communicate via gesture for beers the guard in charge only reluctantly took our money for the service. The dining carriage "bar" was a money-covered table with two chain-smoking guys in uniform – you give them the money, the reach under the table and pull out something you hope you like. On the first beer the main guy didn't want to give me change, and when I could produce exact change he stared daggers at me for having been foiled. The second time we wanted a beer, he simply refused flat out. When we started to play cards, he told us to leave.
Who knows what had caused this ruckus. Maybe the guy was having a bad day... more likely he was enjoying his sad little power trip a little too much. What can't be overlooked, however, is at this point Claire, prototypical white female, enters the scene and suddenly we are treated to more warm beers and we can play all the card games we please. I don't know what was more sad, that his methods were so transparent or that he thought his efforts might count for something. Anyway, score one for white girls.
When we reached Nanning the next morning, we made for the Lotusland Hostel. Although I had a reservation, I didn't have a map; although they didn't have a reservation, they did have a map. We rocked up around 6am and got installed. Well, I thought they had got in, but I crashed immediately after getting my room key and when I woke up the next morning they were not to be found. Good people, best of luck to them.
My friend Eveline from HK had recommended Lotusland to me, claiming it was the best hostel ever. I'm not particularly fond of hyperbole but this place seriously is one of the best hostels ever. The place must have been designed by a backpacker for backpackers because it had all the amenities and homeliness that backpackers look for. The fact that it's not even in a primary destination makes the find all the more delightful. Most people to come Nanning in transit to or from Vietnam, but clearly many have stayed in the unexpected comfort of Lotusland for a few extra days. Friendly multilingual staff, sturdy clean rooms, modern hotel locks, an abundance of deep couches, plenty of clean and working amenities and some at-cost imported foodstuffs for comfort, this place truly had it all. It was even by a park by the riverside. Sadly, I didn't get to spend a single night here.
After waking up around 11, cleaning myself up and settling in, I trekked back to the train station to buy a ticket to Hanoi for the following evening. Indeed, I had wanted to take a bus (only five hours) but the bus station was still closed from New Years celebrations. To ease things along, I wrote out my itinerary in Chinese characters. I stood in line, paper ready. When I got to the ticket window, the conversation went like this:
"Hi, I'd like to take the train to Hanoi tomorrow night, 2/1." I pressed paper against the glass.
Pause. Pensive look. Papers shuffled. "Okay," in decent English, "506 yuan."
My turn to pause. Gesturing at the chart on the wall, "290 yuan? 290 yuan for Hanoi?" I only had 400 yuan on me.
"Tomorrow 506. Today 290. Go today?"
Well now, there's a quandary. I had about ten seconds to determine if she was trying to extort me or if for some reason tomorrow the prices really would jump up before the long line behind me got agitated. At seven second, I played for time.
"What about 2/2? 290 yuan?"
"506 yuan."
"Everyday 506 yuan?"
"Yes."
"But today 290 yuan?"
Nod.
"Dammit." So I bought the ticket for 290 yuan. It was already 2pm and the train left at 6:15pm so I had to hoof it back to the hostel and pack my stuff back up. Prematurely shaken out of my sublime mental and physical state of relaxation, I awkwardly explained to the hostel staff I wouldn't be staying with them. The guy at reception began to apologetically explain that he couldn't refund my money, but I waved it off and told him I'd already slept in the bed anyway.
Back at the train station, I found the "Lounge Reserved for Soft Sleepers" to be immeasurably better than the lounge in general lounge back in Guangzhou Main, though it turned out that the train was composed entirely of soft sleepers, eliminating any sense I had of class superiority. Moreover, I found that the only real difference between soft and hard sleepers were the amount of bunks (four versus six) and the existence of a door.
As opposed to the hundreds or thousands of bodies on the Guangzhou-Nanning lines, on Nanning-Hanoi there were little more than fifty passengers. My three bunkmates were Eric from Beijing and some Vietnamese couple. Eric, the 23-year-old Chinese student was an amusing enough guy: Eric being his English name because his Chinese name was nearly the same as a Mandarin word for "fuck" and us tone-deaf foreigners kept swearing at him. He had been a volunteer at the Olympic village last summer and the German team he was assigned to greeted him every morning with a hearty "Good morning, Fuck!", much to the glee of his co-volunteers.
Eric, moreover, had never been out of China in his life. I saw his brand spanking new passport with a single Vietnamese visa in it and he asked furtively if I'd ever been out of America much...
"Just a bit."
"Really? I heard to be careful Vietnam of the cheats."
"Mmmm, never happens in China, does it."
"No, never."
We split ways in Hanoi, though I got his email and thought we could meet up for a beer. I heard back from him the next day: "Really be careful if you want to take a motocycle or buy anything. Everyone seems to grab money from you." He was going to try his luck down south. I hope he makes it back to China alive.
I started left HK with some customs lines and I arrived in Hanoi the same way. At 11pm we were marched off the train for Chinese immigration and at 2am again for Vietnamese immigration. Suffice to say, in the interim three hours no one had smuggled any drugs or bombs on the train, but Kevin was measurably crabbier. The Vietnamese authorities also took the liberty of sticking a thingamajig in my ear and, having determined that I was a sufficiently healthy individual, charged me 2 yuan for the privilege.
At 5am we arrived in Hanoi, got kicked off the train, and it was at this point I found myself in Vietnam with no money. I felt like I had made this mistake once before...
I've fallen a bit behind on my updates, or maybe too much has been going on in the past few days. Anyways I'm about to potentially flood your in-boxes while I take a day and a half out to chill before I leave Hanoi tomorrow night. Peruse at your leisure. Onwards.
I went from Hong Kong to Hanoi in three parts: the first was a high speed train from Hong Kong to Guangzhou, the second was an overnight train from Guangzhou to Nanning, and the final leg was the overnight train from Nanning to Hanoi. The first leg out of HK was uneventful enough, probably because the HK train station has the technical standards of any other developed country and everything ran smoothly. I was happy enough to leave my sad little Room 27 in Tsim Sha Tsui's Mirador Mansion and see what the proper mainland had in store for me.
Entering and leaving Hong Kong required several progressions of security and customs checks on both sides. Maybe I'm just sick of being trundled off and on my chosen mode of transportation for redundant security checks, but I'll be happy to see the end of check points once I get to Vietnam.
I suppose I got my first taste of the real China (as opposed to supremely urban Shanghai or hardly-China Hong Kong) when I arrived at Guangzhou Main Station. Guangzhou actually has two main train hubs and, having arrived at Guangzhou East, I needed to metro over to Guangzhou Main. Although HK and Guangzhou are only two hours apart by train, the differences are very pronounced. The spectrum of ethnicities immediately dropped back to near homogeneity. Hand-in-hand with that comes the undue attention to outsiders (yours truly). That's nothing new to me, but compared to the topical acceptance in Japan or the bemused curiosity in Ghana, this southern part of China was a mix of guarded interest or disdainful indifference (explanation to come).
As for the physical reality of the place: there are a lot of Chinese people. It's one thing to observe the 1.2 billion statistic and quite another to move from place to place and never see the glut of people let up. Also, what I've seen of China is both intensely dirty and surprisingly clean. There is no cultural stigma against littering, arguably quite the opposite, and having all the aforementioned multitudes constantly using any open spot of ground (or not so open) as a trash receptacle generates immense quantities of visible garbage. So much so that, walking around, I was always surprised that I wasn't already wading around waist-deep in the stuff.
The solution lies in the problem: with so many people they can afford to employ street cleaners constantly. Once it's been pointed out to you once (thanks Cornell) you realize that you can't walk down the street without seeing a few people with brooms and bags sweeping back and forth all day every day. Kudos to China for taking care of garbage, but I'd still enjoy seeing a civic campaign against littering in the future. Why? Because sweepers can't get everywhere, and they couldn't get into Guangzhou Main. Once I passed through security, I made my way to the "Waiting Lounge". This vast hall was last clean when they built the place. Searching for a clean seat I had to dance past apple cores, soda cans, cigarette butts, orange peels and sunflower seeds, to name a few. I believe that orange peels and sunflower seeds make up about 80% of this vice, especially dismal since the seeds have been in and out of people's mouths and spat into great heaps on the floor. I think (hope?) there is a future market in some sort of portable disposal unit for this sort of refuse.
I got to the station relatively early so I watched the lounge slowly fill up until, just prior to departure, the place was seriously overflowing with people. When they finally let us on the deluge predictably tried to shove it's way through the inadequate entry gate, so I just hung back and let things thin out before I made my way. There was an element of risk in this because I wasn't sure what exactly the etiquette regarding inter-city domestic travel in China was: perhaps the seat number on my ticket was a mere formality and the initial rush to board had been the true competition, unknown to my naive eyes. I had a bottom bunk hard-sleeper, more convenient than the middle or upper bunks but, alas, infamous for being used by everyone as spare seats before lights-out. I wasn't looking forward to politely asking any Chinese people to kindly remove themselves from my bed and the guy who was thusly enjoying himself when I arrived departed immediately and I never saw him again.
Although I had prepared for boredom, I was happy to find three Australians in the same set of sleepers as me. Moreover, they too were headed all the way to Hanoi where they were doing long-term volunteer stints in a variety of job placements. Tim the geologist/topographer, Claire the teacher and Linda the something-or-other were very pleasant people and shared with me lots of valuable information on how to get around Vietnam and Hanoi in particular. I owe them a great debt of thanks for saving my wallet many a Dong.
On this train I experienced some of the aforementioned disdainful indifference. This is putting it kindly, I believe, but I'll let you be the judge. I was having dinner and then a beer with Linda in the dining carriage. Linda is Vietnamese-Australian and thus often got the fifth degree in both Chinese and Vietnamese before anyone truly believed she was foreign and even then she received mostly usually disapproving annoyance. So when we had to communicate via gesture for beers the guard in charge only reluctantly took our money for the service. The dining carriage "bar" was a money-covered table with two chain-smoking guys in uniform – you give them the money, the reach under the table and pull out something you hope you like. On the first beer the main guy didn't want to give me change, and when I could produce exact change he stared daggers at me for having been foiled. The second time we wanted a beer, he simply refused flat out. When we started to play cards, he told us to leave.
Who knows what had caused this ruckus. Maybe the guy was having a bad day... more likely he was enjoying his sad little power trip a little too much. What can't be overlooked, however, is at this point Claire, prototypical white female, enters the scene and suddenly we are treated to more warm beers and we can play all the card games we please. I don't know what was more sad, that his methods were so transparent or that he thought his efforts might count for something. Anyway, score one for white girls.
When we reached Nanning the next morning, we made for the Lotusland Hostel. Although I had a reservation, I didn't have a map; although they didn't have a reservation, they did have a map. We rocked up around 6am and got installed. Well, I thought they had got in, but I crashed immediately after getting my room key and when I woke up the next morning they were not to be found. Good people, best of luck to them.
My friend Eveline from HK had recommended Lotusland to me, claiming it was the best hostel ever. I'm not particularly fond of hyperbole but this place seriously is one of the best hostels ever. The place must have been designed by a backpacker for backpackers because it had all the amenities and homeliness that backpackers look for. The fact that it's not even in a primary destination makes the find all the more delightful. Most people to come Nanning in transit to or from Vietnam, but clearly many have stayed in the unexpected comfort of Lotusland for a few extra days. Friendly multilingual staff, sturdy clean rooms, modern hotel locks, an abundance of deep couches, plenty of clean and working amenities and some at-cost imported foodstuffs for comfort, this place truly had it all. It was even by a park by the riverside. Sadly, I didn't get to spend a single night here.
After waking up around 11, cleaning myself up and settling in, I trekked back to the train station to buy a ticket to Hanoi for the following evening. Indeed, I had wanted to take a bus (only five hours) but the bus station was still closed from New Years celebrations. To ease things along, I wrote out my itinerary in Chinese characters. I stood in line, paper ready. When I got to the ticket window, the conversation went like this:
"Hi, I'd like to take the train to Hanoi tomorrow night, 2/1." I pressed paper against the glass.
Pause. Pensive look. Papers shuffled. "Okay," in decent English, "506 yuan."
My turn to pause. Gesturing at the chart on the wall, "290 yuan? 290 yuan for Hanoi?" I only had 400 yuan on me.
"Tomorrow 506. Today 290. Go today?"
Well now, there's a quandary. I had about ten seconds to determine if she was trying to extort me or if for some reason tomorrow the prices really would jump up before the long line behind me got agitated. At seven second, I played for time.
"What about 2/2? 290 yuan?"
"506 yuan."
"Everyday 506 yuan?"
"Yes."
"But today 290 yuan?"
Nod.
"Dammit." So I bought the ticket for 290 yuan. It was already 2pm and the train left at 6:15pm so I had to hoof it back to the hostel and pack my stuff back up. Prematurely shaken out of my sublime mental and physical state of relaxation, I awkwardly explained to the hostel staff I wouldn't be staying with them. The guy at reception began to apologetically explain that he couldn't refund my money, but I waved it off and told him I'd already slept in the bed anyway.
Back at the train station, I found the "Lounge Reserved for Soft Sleepers" to be immeasurably better than the lounge in general lounge back in Guangzhou Main, though it turned out that the train was composed entirely of soft sleepers, eliminating any sense I had of class superiority. Moreover, I found that the only real difference between soft and hard sleepers were the amount of bunks (four versus six) and the existence of a door.
As opposed to the hundreds or thousands of bodies on the Guangzhou-Nanning lines, on Nanning-Hanoi there were little more than fifty passengers. My three bunkmates were Eric from Beijing and some Vietnamese couple. Eric, the 23-year-old Chinese student was an amusing enough guy: Eric being his English name because his Chinese name was nearly the same as a Mandarin word for "fuck" and us tone-deaf foreigners kept swearing at him. He had been a volunteer at the Olympic village last summer and the German team he was assigned to greeted him every morning with a hearty "Good morning, Fuck!", much to the glee of his co-volunteers.
Eric, moreover, had never been out of China in his life. I saw his brand spanking new passport with a single Vietnamese visa in it and he asked furtively if I'd ever been out of America much...
"Just a bit."
"Really? I heard to be careful Vietnam of the cheats."
"Mmmm, never happens in China, does it."
"No, never."
We split ways in Hanoi, though I got his email and thought we could meet up for a beer. I heard back from him the next day: "Really be careful if you want to take a motocycle or buy anything. Everyone seems to grab money from you." He was going to try his luck down south. I hope he makes it back to China alive.
I started left HK with some customs lines and I arrived in Hanoi the same way. At 11pm we were marched off the train for Chinese immigration and at 2am again for Vietnamese immigration. Suffice to say, in the interim three hours no one had smuggled any drugs or bombs on the train, but Kevin was measurably crabbier. The Vietnamese authorities also took the liberty of sticking a thingamajig in my ear and, having determined that I was a sufficiently healthy individual, charged me 2 yuan for the privilege.
At 5am we arrived in Hanoi, got kicked off the train, and it was at this point I found myself in Vietnam with no money. I felt like I had made this mistake once before...
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