01/24/2012 – “Hold on sir.” As the customs official looks
curiously at my passport and waves over some more suits. Oh shit, I’ve been red
flagged. They’re talking and pointing at me, now they’re walking this way. I
can see the door, should I run for it.
Okay,
so really my passport was just damaged. They were deciding on whether or not it
was fit for travel and if I should be allowed entrance into Vietnam. He steps
back in his booth, stamps and I’m in! As I’m waiting for my bag, my name is
announced to report to the luggage desk. I thought they changed their minds, I
advanced with caution. Expecting to be shown to departures, I received better
news, not to say good though. My bag apparently didn’t make the plane change in
Bangkok. I could deal with this, so I gave them a description. If it was found
they would deliver it to my hotel. Here’s the catch, for that to work out, you
need to know where you’re going! I took their number and left, just wanted to
get outside.
Second
guessing wanting to be outside, it was much colder in Hanoi than I expected. I
thought Vietnam, South-East Asia = sandals, sunburns. I was wrong indeed, it
wasn’t Canadian winter cold by any means, but it was far from warm. Sharing a
cab with someone I met on the plane into the Old Quarter (backpacker district),
they had a bed booked at the Hanoi Backpackers Hostel. Turns out extra beds were
available and for less than ten dollars a day, I think so. They even called the
airport for me, to more easily communicate.
Arriving
on the second day of Tet (Vietnamese New Year), I had no idea of its significance.
One of the few public holidays, just about everything was closed, other than a
handful of restaurants, bars and shops. Not quite sure of my course of action,
I bunkered down for a couple days awaiting the reunion with my belongings. A
few of us walked the streets, eating, drinking, eating and drinking, a complete
debauchery of the senses. Beer was or par with the cost of water, they make my
decisions for me, and a bowl of pho was about the same.
“Hey,
are you Jason Mullin?”
“Umm,
yeah, I think so.” As I barely opened my eyes.
“We
leave in ten minutes for Halong Bay, are you coming?” It was an employee
rounding up all the slackers. I managed to roll out of bed, pack my stuff which
was returned late my second day when I booked this overnight ‘cruise’. While
brushing the polluted taste out of my mouth, I realized my chin was caked in
blood. Washing it off, vague memories flooded my foggy brain of being
convinced, which most likely was not difficult, to do the worm. Of course I
went for it, only to split my chin open on the floor. Not having much feeling and
a reasonably successful worm, I think, other than the chin spitting, I just held a napkin to it and continued
on. I saw the wound and had an angel/devil experience. One telling me I should
probably get stitches, then thankfully he was silenced and I was reminded I
forgot travel insurance and had a bus to catch.
Four
hours of what I have to consider sleep on a stool in the aisle of the bus is
all I get. Another day, another drink! According to rumor, it’s about to begin
again when we board the junk boat, drunk overindulgence.
Out on
open water, maneuvering through the thousands of limestone islands and junk
boats, I walked around the boat mystified by the haze that hung over the bay
all day. Once being shown our cabins, most of us grabbed a couple roadies for
the kayak, and from this moment on the buffalo rule was in effect. Paddling
into a tunnel taking us through one of the monoliths, we stopped to explore a
small grotto, whose mouth opened just above the turquoise water. Finishing at a
fishing village, we got a ride back to our boat and dinner was ready. While we
ate another boat crept up and was tied to ours. Not that everyone wasn’t well
on their way, it was time to load up and jump ship. Double fisting, I split a bottle
of rum with a couple others and a forty person game of Kings ensued. The night
got blurry quickly, and then I heard the mass wake-up call at 7:30. Running off
last night’s fumes, I drank my way through breakfast to keep me going until the
bus back to Hanoi, where I could slip into unconsciousness.
Back in
the Old Quarter, dreading the moment the bus stopped, I felt and I’m sure
looked no better than a grotesque pile of gauno, but I wasn’t alone. Staggering to the hostel desk, I booked another
tour for the following day going to Tam Coc, which was a couple hour boat ride
through more limestone caves, then headed for an enormous bowl of pho ga. A Vietnamese
noodle soup with chicken (pho bo – beef). Every time I play with the
condiments, to find the perfect balance of spice, salt, sweet and sour, that
would be debated by the whole country. While walking back, planning a night of
recovery, I was intercepted by a friend I met and learned of their departure
the next day. This only meant one thing, cheap Hanoi vodka from the street to
kick back into high gear.
Keeping
it tamer than previous nights, I managed to get my befouled self up for a much
needed but undesired breakfast, before pushing through the day. Getting back in
the early evening, I finally justified some time for a nap. Surprisingly rejuvenated
when I awoke, I was also starving. Deciding what’s for dinner, the snake village
tour was being announced. This is a whole other story, but to say the least, it
was a hooch filled dinner party.
It was
my sixth day in Hanoi now and before I kept drinking myself in circles, I
bought a sleeper train ticket south for the following night. Keeping in touch
with a friend I had met on my jungle trek a couple weeks prior, he had close relations
to the Vietnam Friendship Village. Eagerly, I accepted his offer to see their
welcoming doors. The Vietnam Friendship Village provides medical care, physical
therapy and education to the young and elderly with a range of illnesses. Run
by volunteers, their dedication is unparalleled. Due to the holiday most of the
residents went home to be with their families, but we were shown some of the
rooms where they stayed and learned. The playground they tried so hard to maintain
and the very necessary football field (real football, European football). What
amazed me the most was the garden and the small farm, making the community as
self sustaining as possible.
The following
day was one of the staff’s only real days off where a sort of pilgrimage took
place. Taking us with them, we hiked up at least two thousand irregular steps
to a striking monument, proudly overlooking the surrounding stunning
countryside. Afterwards we joined them for a bountiful family style feast.
Being a guest, they graciously served me, refilling my bowl constantly. It was
difficult to get explanations of the dishes we ate, but one described to me as
a small seabird, was roasted and glazed. Amongst many toasts of vodka and beer a head was offered up to me, I think
as a joke, thinking I wouldn’t eat it as they chuckled. About the size of a
timbit, one bite, beak, bones and brains, down the hatch. The skull cracked
open to a savory explosion as the brain burst. Do you remember gushers? Same
idea.
 |
| Buddha's hand at the market |
After
an unforgettable meal and experience with the Vietnam Friendship Village, I was
driven back to the Old Quarter hoping I would return again. Sitting around the
hostel, getting ready for the train, I was asked if I would make up the final
person for the snake tour. Well I had a train to catch at 10:00pm, and the tour returned around 9:30. Sure, why not, cutting it close but that snake was
good!
Managing
to get on the train with a bit of a sideways shuffle and some rice whiskey I
took to-go, I had a few more to Hanoi and woke up in Hue.
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