Sheridan’s Blog

Yo! YOU! HELLO! WHERE YOU GO???!?!?!

Back the hell off! You cannot imagine the constant harassment experienced in Hanoi (at least in the tourist centre anyway). It’s all well and good to be offered a service, but saying ‘No, thanks’ once (or even twice) should be ample to advise the seller you are not interested. It’s not. You clearly need some kind of inflatable bat to bop them on the head with (which we didn’t pack, unfortunately). It is so annoying that instead of trying to be a role-model and ambassador for the home country, I end up imagining myself in some kind of Terminator-style movie, pushing people on bikes over and seeing them fly 50 feet away before landing with a sickening thud (I don’t do this, nor would I – it’s purely a fantasy). It’s sometimes tough to be nice, and frequently much easier to just ignore anyone who approaches. This is sad because there’s a good chance I’ll miss out on someone genuinely nice.

Anyway, eager to see the back of Hanoi (due to the above), we got our flight out to Danang. Hanoi airport is a good way out of town (as airports should be), and although an international airport, is still quite small and crying out for a make-over. None of which is as important as the plane landing with everyone on board still intact. Which it did. Danang is only an hour’s flight away, and we had barely got into our seats before we had to get off again. I felt as if we had landed in Nhill or something – they drove the little ladder things out to the plane (as the terminal was not designed to accommodate the usual ‘docking’ scenario), and we all filed off into awaiting buses to be driven the 30m or so to the actual terminal, where we awaited our bags. We stayed in a place close to the train station, seeing as we wished to get the early train the next day. In the time ensuing, we visited a cafe we came to last time we were here and also got some of their banana cake, which is probably one of the best in the world. Maybe Jeff Kennett should fly out and start a competition or something.
We attempted to get the early train the next day, but due to a miniscule but all-time-consuming ‘queue’ we were held up. A lady and her extended family were booking/investigating their tickets for Tet (new year). Train tickets are hard to come by during this time as the train doesn’t run. But before and after it is mega-busy. The Vietnamese also don’t have the same concept of queuing as westerners do. They just all swarm up and push in. Even if you’re already at the counter and the friendly service-type-person is dealing with your request, they’ll still push in. And it’s obvious why – the friendly service type person will respond to their enquiry. I guess it’s some attempt at multi-tasking, or an effort to serve as many people as once. Maybe there’s some nation-wide competition to see who can serve the most people in a day or something. They probably win a cow or something, I don’t know…
Anyway, we tried to adopt the situation as our own and eventually got tickets. Tim headed off in search of food for the train (baguettes), while I watched the stall-holders. We have been lucky enough to see how these people operate: minutes before a train arrives, they open their stores and set everything up, then when the train leaves, they close the doors and all run away. It’s quite odd. Tim returned with baguettes, and also stories of how the people were trying to touch his beard. Now this is not an isolated incident – men, women and children all hold some kind of fascination with his beard. I’ve thought of sitting him on a nice chair in the street and charging people for a feel.

The train was fairly scungy (?) There was mess and garbage everywhere. I had to remove a half-eaten chicken drumstick from my seat, as well as additional foods and drinks in varying states of decay. It was appalling. Someone came along and cleaned up not long after we took off, but I was just a bit disgusted that people just dump their things all over the place. It’s not like there’s no bins, and every hour or so, someone comes along and collects the trash – you don’t even have to leave your seat. Six hours later, we were in Dieu Tri, about 10 clicks from Quy Nhon, our destination for the next 2 days.

Arriving in the dark is never ideal. The taxi dropped us where we thought the hotel might be. It wasn’t, of course. We couldn’t find it. Or the next one we were looking for. Tim is pretty good with maps, so I believe these places do not actually exist, or he would have located them. Turns out the 2nd place had relocated further along the beach. We stayed in the next place we saw, and then moved to a place closer to the beach in the morning.
The people here are a lot less blood-pressure-raising than those in Hanoi. They take no for an answer. I’ve even tried to explain to the ones in Hanoi and Sapa why we don’t need a motorcycle taxi/shoe shine/pair of trousers/room:

‘No thanks – I’m just going for a walk’; or
‘I don’t think so – I’m wearing thongs!; and
‘Very kind of you to offer – but I already have some pants on, thanks.
And of course: ‘You’ve already been so ridiculously accommodating – we couldn’t possibly accept anything more – it would be an imposition on our behalf’.
Of course, they just look at me like I escaped from an asylum (I may have). But here, in Quy Nhon, it’s not necessary. The people are more relaxed and the kids are friendly. It’s akin to being a mini-celebrity: everyone says hello and waves. Before this, I was rationing my waves and hellos (you don’t want to give out too many or they’ll perhaps lose their value), but now I’m in a generous mood. I’ll out out a few waves and hellos.

Tomorrow we head to Nha Trang, another 4 hours down the coast. We’ll set up camp here for the New Year.

After thinking we might not make it back to Hanoi (from horrid tour) in Halong Bay, we got there in the end. No thanks to APT tours, might I add. I don’t recall any sector of the tour that was on time or organised. But Halong Bay is a lovely place, and I’m positive if we ever return, it will be in the high season and we’ll fork out a bit more $$ for any tour we may choose to go on.
We arrived back on Hanoi on the tour bus from a different company (since our tour company was so incompetent – not enough seats back for the people it took, very stupid, lucky they don’t organise the Melbourne Show or anything). We then finished up our business in the old quarter of Hanoi and headed for the train station (or Ga, as it’s known here). The train left around 9-10pm, an is an overnight service to Lao Cai, the gateway to Sa Pa (and also the gateway to China). The overnight train was an interesting experience. There are multiple classes in Vietnamese train travel: hard seat, soft seat, hard sleeper, soft sleeper, and various other combinations with/without air conditioning. We went for the most comfortable on offer, the soft sleeper air-con. It’s a 4-berth scenario, and we were lucky enough to be sharing with some rather personable Germans, also on their way to Sa Pa. We had a chat for a while and then tried to sleep. It seems like only minutes later that I heard stirring in the bunk above, and Tim was saying that we had arrived.
Sa Pa is a stunning place, scenery-wise. Not that we’d know, since it was shrouded in fog the enture time we were there. So we spent much of our time with the Germans we met on the train, eating and drinking and shopping. Due to the weather situation, they decided to return to Hanoi with us the next evening on the night train. This time the train was not quite as good a standard as the one we arrived on. And there was a semi-crazy woman trying to sell us coffee/drugs/etc pretty much all the way. We soon followed the lead of the other passengers and shut our cabin door. We arrived in Hanoi around 5am and stumbled forth from the train into a veritable landmine of people selling things. It never relents, goes all through the night apparently. We got taxis to the old quarter and then waited it out until something opened so we could have breakfast. After that, we exchanged details and said goodbye, maybe forever, or maybe until next week. Who knows?
We headed to the airport shortly after for our flight to Danang.

Whilst in Hanoi, we decided to go on a 3 day-2 night organised (and I use the term ‘organised’ loosely), tour of Halong Bay. It was rubbish and not worth writing about. Tours are a crap idea.

After what seemed like eternity on the train, we pulled into Hanoi central station. The train averaged a speed of around 50-60km/h, which made it easier to see the scenery (to put a positive spin on it, anyway). It was dark as we approached Hanoi, but we did notice that shops and buildings were frightfully close to the rails. There was no fence or barrier, and if you stepped out of a shop and continued walking for 2 paces – you’d be hit by a train, should one be approaching at that time. It might be going so slow you could run away from it if it hit you anyway. Many of the stations, and indeed a good portion of the level-crossings are manned. A guy comes out (in his uniform/regalia) and holds up a flag, in a stark exhibit of national pride, no less. At night, we noticed that these guys have lanterns as well. How else are they supposed to see in the dark? Now I’m wondering if the train had a headlight or not.
Nothing much else of note happened on the train. There was a distinct presence of Tina Arena music, along with the instrumental version of La Isla Bonita. Oh, and I also ate a piece of unidentified meat. It tasted ok, but I did not continue eating.
If we thought it was difficult to cross the road in Da Nang, we were wrong. It’s a thousand times harder here. You kind of have to wait for the slightest gap in the motorbikes and begin walking very slowly, creeping out in manner of 90y.o on way to bingo. And you can’t stop either. You just have to keep going. According to custom, the cars and motorcycles will just work their way around you – they will not stop, and most of the time it looks as if they will plough straight through you. It’s not the most calming activity. There’s some big roads, and sometimes you have to use a local (or another westerner) as a shield, much like we did this morning.
Last night we went and saw the water puppets. It was quite an experience, but not all that special. But we did get to hear a bit of Vietnamese traditional music and singing.
The rest of our time in Hanoi was spent shopping and trying to organise the next few travel moves. It makes things tricky when your movements over the next few days are hinging on whether you can get a flight or accommodation. We have decided on the following mission:
1. Tour of Halong Bay – 3 days/2nights. Return to Hanoi around 4pm.
2. On return to Hanoi, race to train station to catch overnight train to Sapa.
3. Spend next day and night in Sapa.
4. Get on overnight train from Sapa to Hanoi.
5. On return to Hanoi (early morning), get out to airport for 3pm fight to Da Nang.
6. Stay in Da Nang overnight.
7. Get 9am train to some place (name of which I cannot remember)
8. Go from place with no name to Nha Trang.
All before the New Year.

From Da Nang, Tim and Sheridan decided it was best to head north to Hanoi. Since it’s a lengthy trip by train (Sheridan is allergic to buses), they had previously been making shorter, more manageable trips, stopping over here and there along the way. But this has not been all that worthwhile. Mainly because maps for some of the coastal towns do not exist, nor does the ability of Vietnamese-language-translation of Tim and Sheridan extend far. So they decided to head straight for Hanoi, 12 hours on the train and departing around 11.29am. A much nicer prospect than the last one, at 5.53am, or a getting-up time of around 4.30am. Not that it matters much, as Sheridan and Tim discovered the Vietnamese are early risers themselves. They suspected this beforehand as every morning they were awoken by a market-rush at 6am, or by the collective population starting their motorcycle engines at once. But upon rising and gazing out the window, Tim exclaimed what can only be described as pure shock that not one or two, but several Vietnamese folk were out by the river, practicing an aerobics-tai chi hybrid, in the moonlight. Or they were out for a run or a walk; in pairs or groups. In fact, on further thought, Sheridan beleives there were more people prancing about on the riverfront at 4am than at 4pm. So it’s not just the ‘healthy’ diet that keeps them trim and young-looking – they’re stealth exercising!
Sheridan and Tim were soon performing their own brand of stealth exercising as they walked fully-laden to the train station. The entire trip they hd been hounded by taxis, but now, amazingly enough, they had all vanished (probably doing aerobics). Tim found one and they got in after a brief game of charades to explain the desired destination.
The train station was guarded, but Sheridan asked for 2 tickets to Dong Hoi. Tim stated the class. The man said a few things, then dispensed tickets in exchange for cash. They sat and waited. After a while, everyone got up and walked out to the train. The platform was crowded, not with passengers, but with stallholders (prior to 6am). Stalls of hot foods (mainly eggs and other strange things), sweets, drinks and even clothing and accessories had clearly been open for some time. Sheridan and Tim walked down and got on the correct carriage. Tim found the seats and they were then sat in. The train ride was quite scenic, especially when Tim and/or Sheridan was awake to see said scenery.
(I can’t write like this anymore, it’s taking forever…)

So we arrived in Dong Hoi and got a cab to the hotel. All we had was the address. There are no maps of Dong Hoi online. Indeed we couldn’t find one anywhere, no matter our dedication to the task. But the taxi driver responded positively to viewing the address and we were there in no time, although it clearly wasn’t 500m from the train station, as advertised by the hotel.
There’s not a lot in Dong Hoi. It looks a bit delapidated, like the person who was maintaining it just up and left town and no one took over. There’s a nice enough beach, but it’s heavily littered (apparently with syringes, too), and the place is mainly deserted. We did ponder whether this was because we’re here in the off-peak season. Vietnam seems to have a very bizarre climate and thus tourist season to match. Up north, it’s cold over the Christmas/New Year period but hot down south. Which is probably where all the tourists are. We have yet to see another westerner here.
It’s also difficult to get food. Well, not to get it, but to get food we will actually eat. There’s no western menu (no menu at all, actually, anywhere) and no one speaks English. The phrasebook has been virtually useless (or we can’t pronounce the words properly. I blame both). We had a lunch of soup and boiled eggs. We were also the 2nd biggest attraction in town, my shoes being the biggest attraction.
Out of desperation, we just headed to the nearest place for dinner, not really expecting to get food. We were ushered into a deserted place a few doors down. You never really know what you’re walking into. It seems almost every residence has a big concrete area out the front which they fill with cheap plastic chairs and tables, and then if anyone comes in, they might cook for them. I’m not sure if all these places are actually cafes/etc, or if they are just ambitious people with spare space. Anyway, we found ourselves sat down and brought beer. We then tried to order something. Then we waited. In the meantime, a young guy came and sat with us and took a look at the phrasebook. The people here love the phrasebook – they are transfixed and fascinated by it. It turned out that he spoke a small amount of English (either that or he was a very quick learner), and we tried to converse as best we could. He asked some questions, we answered, etc. Then came the food. First tofu, then steamed rice. There were no women in the kitchen, just 4 guys, and they way they brought everything out was amazing. They, of course, were just dressed normally (no waiters outfits here), yet they were arranging things on the tray, and getting out little dishes for soy sauce. We scoffed down the food, and they kept on cooking. Next soup came out, then an omelette. By that stage, we were pretty full (there was a LOT of rice), and they brought out a pot of tea for us to drink. We had also gleaned some information from young Tuan Anh, including how to say ‘rice’ and various other things, as well as received an invitation to breakfast the next day. All this for only 62,000 dong! An absolute bargain. We’ll most likely drop by on the way to the train station tomorrow, heading for Hanoi. Hopefully we can stock up on some necessities on Hanoi (ie – hopefully there is a chemist/pharmacy and a supermarket of types).

I had a Bad Feeling about this place before we even got here. The bus to Da Nang, which according to the guy at our last hotel, costs about 100,000D, ended up costing us 200,000D. And to use the word bus would be a gross error in the use of the English language. But then again, the hotel was owned by the Vietnam/Kon Tum tourism place, and the buses are probably owned by one and the same, so we should have expected something like this. But, being used to relatively fair trading and an environment where the consumer has a certain degree of established rights, it slipped our minds. We ended up getting a taxi to the station, and the driver dropped us off right by the privately-owned/tourism-run buses (roughly translated as small mini-vans fit-out to seat 19 or so). Not sure if this is just some kind of bizarre coincidence, or if the taxis just ‘know’ to drop you off there, rather than right in front of the ticket counter, which we saw on our way out on the stupid mini-bus. Anyway, we got on and I thought it was ace – most seats empty. Meanwhile, I was wondering how on earth it would take five and a half hours to drive 250km. Then I found out – we drove the first 50km in what seemed like 2nd gear. And we stopped to pick up people along the way. About every 10 minutes, a guy would lean out the window and try to coerce bystanders into the van. It’s not soothing to have some guy screech out ‘Da Nang???!?!???’ at regular intervals. But we got going, and then the bus was completely rammed. To make it more interesting, the road is mega-windy and very hilly. Plus there was unpredictable braking due to cows, etc standing on the road. I’m pretty sure everyone except the driver/his assistants and the guy sitting next to me were throwing up. Then later on they all ate lunch and then threw up again when we took off. Quick learners. The road, when cows were not on it, was sometimes in very poor shape. It appears the road was cut into very steep rock/soil with very little vegetation, resulting in massive slabs of mud sliding down due to the rains. At times the road went down to one lane, which is scary when you understand that these people overtake whenever they like, including going up hills, around blind corners, and even when you can clearly see traffic coming the other way. Apparently if you honk your horn several times, the oncoming traffic has to give way. It’s the law.
Da Nang itself is not much to look at. But then again, we weren’t there for the scenery. We’ll get on the train tomorrow for Dong Hoi, inching our way north on the map to Hanoi.

On arrival in Vietnam (which looks strangely like Laos) we decided to spend the night there, and headed out for a hotel. The first dilemma was – how to get to said hotel? The minibus dropped us off somewhere unspecified, so we just decided to begin walking. A bit up the road we were accosted by some persistent moto drivers. They were ‘offering’ to give us a lift (for a specified fee, of course) to our hotel. We spent a few seconds looking at each other, and then the moto drivers, wondering how they imagined we might actually manage to get seated behind one of them on a motorbike carrying a 20kg pack on our backs and another smaller one on our fronts. Um, so where do I put these…? But they insisted, and much to my absolute horror and possibly due to disorientation syndrome, we got on. It was an interesting ride, during most of which I chose to close my eyes and pretend I was already dead. But thankfully, I woke up at the conclusion of the ‘ride’. In front of the wrong hotel. A more expensive one. Since my nerves packed up and went to Barbados last week, Tim seemed to instinctively know not to suggest a move to another hotel. The hotel also had a restaurant, bizarrely located a few blocks away. We went anyway, and the food was fantastic.
When we woke up it was dark. Not that it was early or anything, but there was no power in the hotel, which was particularly convenient, since we had to pack our things to get out to the station to catch the 7am bus. We managed this through the magic that is mobile phone lighting and small emergency torches.
It is likely the 7am bus will deliver us to Da Nang, assuming we get on the right one.

It’s not too far from Sekong to Attapeu. Mind you, when you don’t know what time the bus leaves, it can feel like forever. The preferred (possibly only) method for catching the bus in these parts is to stand by the side of the road and hail it down. And you could never miss it – they blast the horn enough to wake the dead as they come through. It looks like the locals just leave their bags on the side of the road and listen for the bus horn from inside their homes.
Attapeu has no ATM, which is not ideal. We had enough cash, but had anything been more costly than we were expecting, or had anything else nasty happened, I wanted to be prepared. As far as I’m concerned, I’d rather have a little too much than not enough. Tim sees to disagree on this, or perhaps just comes up a little short in the calculations. There’s a lot more expenditure going on than just 3 meals a day plus accommodation…
Anyway, we used Attapeu to exchange some money. It was also 3 days of fried rice meals. The last day we found baguettes, the fillings of which may have been slightly dubious. And I fell over on a dirt road (yes, hahahahaha funny times..) We had quite a nice room as well, which helped kill the time. It did take 2 days to locate the bus to Vietnam. Signs are either in Lao or Vietnamese, which is of no assistance to us. Funnily enough, we found the place when I simply stood out the front of what I thought was it, looking around blankly for a few minutes. Some men then rushed out and tried to sell us tickets and/or food. The fare was quite steep ($US12), and I fully expected the bus to be a minibus packed with 27 people. But when we got on it, there were more vacant seats than occupied. We did pick up a few people on the way, but the bus remained mostly empty all the way to Kon Tum. The unusual thing about the Vietnamese (well, the first thing anyway) was that they all wanted to sit as close to the front of the bus as possible. Most people I know would prefer to take a seat to themselves, maybe even one or two rows back from the other passengers. But these people actively sought the seats as close to the driver as physically possible. As luck would have it, just across the aisle from me was a Laos border officer. When about 5 of these official-looking border guys got on the bus, Tim and I started to get our passports out (we had no idea who they were), but they just sat down. Seems they get a ride to work on the same bus as the border-crossers. This guy struck up a convo with me (he spoke a little English, more than enough to get by), and we chatted about the province and the road, etc. It was nice.
When we got to the Laos departure part of the border, we all queued up with our documents. Everyone else went straight through. There was a distinct delay when we got to the front of the queue. That particular border is very new – has been open (officially) less than a year, and according to my border guard friend, the road leading to the border was only completed last year. We encountered another Australian there, coming into Laos from Vietnam. Our passports seemed to confuse and mesmerise the officials, as if they had never seen one of them before. Then when the time came for them to stamp us out, they had to christen a brand new stamp for the job. It was a historic moment.
From there, it was a short ride to the Vietnam border. This was uneventful.
Once we were in, it was another hour or two to Kon Tum, where we were to spend the night.

Getting to Sekong was something of a challenge. We got on the ‘bus’, no problems. We got into what I thought was Sekong, but maybe Tim didn’t feel the same. So we passed through the town and continued for about 15-20km, at which point the bus pulled over, a man jumped out and took off on a motorcycle, back in the direction we came. We waited. And kept waiting. Finally, a vehicle came along in the opposite direction to which we were going, and Tim hooked us up with a ride back to Sekong (an expensive one).
Sekong is much the same as Paksong, only larger. There is no internet in Sekong, nor was there in Paksong. In fact, there’s very little internet action again until we reach Vietnam. We were the only westerners in Sekong. There was also no hint of English here either. It’s kind of difficult if you actually need something, or want to eat something other than fried rice for every meal. Thank goodness the phrasebook has a few meals in it that we can vaguely pronounce and then eat. Regardless of this, we seem to be getting a run of food that is so heavily spiced and laden with chillies that we can barely eat it.
Streak of smelly bathrooms continues here.
We’ll leave here tomorrow for Attapeu (which we don’t know how to pronounce).

Dust to Dust
We awoke nice and early to look into our Pakse/Paksong trip. The lady at the guesthouse had set us up with a ticket to Pakse, and even better, had organised our departure from the guesthouse itself, which saved us walking the km or so with our packs. The self-sufficient smugness of carrying everything you own around on your back wears off quicker than one would expect. But around 8am, a man led us into a very small boat (with no roof!) and we made the 15 minute or so journey across to where the bus leaves. Now when they say bus, they really mean whatever is available. It turned out to be a sawngthaew (or something spelled remarkably similar). It’s basically one of those mini trucks (maybe a Diahatsu Hiace or something, I don’t know), with a bench seat fitted along each side in the back. There’s a canopy roof, and most of the bags (and spare fuel in plastic containers etc) are on the roof. So about 15 or so of us jump into this air-cooled vehicle and head back to Pakse. These vehicles travel a little slower than your car, but probably quicker than the bus, which probably averages 60-70km/h.
We then proceeded to find another, smaller sawngthaew (like a tuk-tuk) which was going to Paksong. Some guy who drove a taxi (and I use the word ‘taxi’ quite loosely) tried unsuccessfully to obtain our custom, and at one point, when he offered us a fare of 60,000kip, we turned to the other guy and said – ‘How much are you?’ He was much cheaper, so we got into his van. There was one other westerner on this leg of the trip. The rest were locals.
Now the fun thing about these types of vehicles is that if you happen to be travelling on a dirt road, you can pretty much guarantee a face full of dust, bringing on a phenomena I choose to call ‘mud-mouth’. The locals tend to wrap towels, sarongs or part of their clothing over their faces so they don’t choke. Too bad us westerners try to look cool by not requiring any assistance from respiratory devices, and consequently spend the entire trip looking as if we have just eaten a lemon. It’s very dusty. To test this out at home, get in your car, and drive along a dusty road (might need to head into the bush). Now unwind all windows. Keep driving. Or, a simpler method would be to get a friend to drive slowly along said dusty road and just walk behind car. Same phenomena.
So we made it to Paksong, which is a very small town in the Bolaven Plateau area. This is where the Lao coffee is grown, although you wouldn’t know it unless you read it in the Lonely Planet book. I had sampled the coffee earlier, pretty much at every place that had it on the menu so I didn’t feel it necessary to seek out a cup in Paksong. Good thing, too, since I doubt I would have been able to transmit this desire in a language they understood. Even though it’s only an hour or so out of Pakse, where many people speak English and it’s very easy to negotiate your way around, Paksong is quite the opposite. I don’t think we came across one English-speaking person, and Tim resorted to Lao so we could get food. There are no menus, which is probably ok since we wouldn’t be able to read them anyway.
We decided to only stay the one night in Paksong and then head for Sekong, a few hours south-east.
The bathroom smells weird here. We have deduced that it may be due to infrequent use resulting in waste water becoming stagnant.
We may have, at times, been a little bored. We have filled in spare time by playing rock, paper, scissors. This wonderful game has informed us (by the laws of the planet, I’m sure) that I have the best body and am the best looking. I am also ‘the best’ in the general terms of things. However, I am ALWAYS the last to use the bathroom and I nearly always have to get out of bed to turn off the light. It’s a heavy burden…