A crowded bus.
A bumpy road.
A washed-out casino, built with a grandeur that doesn’t quite penetrate beyond the faded sign, splashed like an afterthought across the front.
An unknown woman, clad in a white t-shirt and a skepticism-inducing aura, whose English knowledge appears to be limited to “give me your passports, now.”
A high stone archway, and a rush of humid air as the bus doors close behind our backs.
Several breakneck, confused, sweaty minutes.
Suddenly: Vietnam.
We ate lunch at a restaurant by the river in Ha Tien, and had our first taste of Vietnamese food. Phơ, or fried noodles, or soup, or iced coffee, or lukewarm, slightly questionable chicken. (Luckily, Chris survived the latter, food-poisoning free). Then we piled our backpacks in a park and a few of us stood guard while the rest set off to wander the streets looking for housing.
We ended up at the Hai Phuong Hotel, a four-story building overlooking the river complete with elevators(!!!) and sweet, sweet air conditioning. We had the afternoon to walk around town: exchange money, go on a wild goose chase in search of a laundromat (apparently people in Ha Tien have never heard of such a concept), and explore the street market that vibrates with energy at all hours, from late-night quests for fresh fruit to early breakfasts before our ferry ride to Pirate Island. We got to drink sugarcane juice, walk along the riverside, and stare blankly while the sandwich vendor rattled off prices in rapid-fire Vietnamese, which inevitably ended with us giving up on any hopes of verbal communication and just waving money in their face until they indicated the correct amount. Counting on fingers, while certainly not a hindrance, was only so helpful, as the Vietnamese currency, dong, is usually dealt in increments of at least 5 to 10 thousand (the exchange rate is roughly 20,000 dong to 1 US dollar). If we were lucky (a pretty big if), we might chance upon a vendor who understood the English words “how much does this cost?”. Ha Tien, as it turns out, is not a city accustomed to Western tourists.
Thursday morning found us piled in taxis with the city whizzing by through cranked-down windows–the hotel buildings clustered by the riverside like seagulls while a recording of eerily-shrill bird noises blasted the air, the bustling market square, the streets filled with motorbikes and the occasional bicycle or nose-down dog. Soon, we were at the ferry station, sitting in plastic chairs on the top deck of the boat, in the only section not crowded with locals and Vietnamese tourists. It quickly became clear why this section wasn’t crowded; between the exhaust smoke billowing in our faces and the earsplitting roar of the engine, it’s a wonder we made it through the hour-long ride to Pirate Island at all. But finally, we arrived at the dock, half-deaf and sweating and eager to peel off our sticky t-shirts and jump in the ocean.
What a sight! The water was dark and choppy, the “beach” was strewn with layers of trash like so many grains of sand, and the dock was so crowded by locals waiting to pounce on us with offers of cold drinks and motorcycle rentals that it seemed unlikely we’d even have space to step off the boat. As soon as the engine cut out, people began pouring from the decks onto the dock from all directions–jumping off the rails, crawling out from the lower deck, climbing through windows and over walls.
We ignored the men promising us a “special discount price” for a golf cart tour of the island and chose to walk the ½ kilometer to the actual beach instead. A fifteen minute walk in the angry pre-noon sun proved to be worth it: the beach we found was pristine, tranquil, and completely empty, save for a few mostly-deserted restaurants dotting the roadside. Our own little paradise, complete with crystal-clear water gently lapping the pebbly shore; scattered shade from a row of coconut palms; and the picturesque view of distant mainland mountains and slightly-less-distant islands, blue skies and a curving green coastline, and a single, delightfully old-fashioned fishing boat anchored to a rocky outcropping a few feet past the beach.
What an amazing way to spend a hot day! We played Frisbee in the water, joined for part of the time by a group of Vietnamese guys with skinny bare chests and raucous laughs that exploded like cannonfire whenever one of them tried–and inevitably failed–to throw the Frisbee. We tanned or burned (mostly burned) and ate watermelon and mangos crudely sliced with Reilly’s pocket knife, the juices staining our skin and our stolen hotel towels. We ate lunch at a little restaurant further down the beach, where ordering consisted of gingerly pulling the live crab you wanted out of the cage submerged in the water just off the dock, and carrying it pinched between your fingertips, its claws swinging wildly, over to the kitchen. Freshest seafood I’ve ever had. Certainly some of the best, too.
At 2 o’clock, we boarded our return ferry, making sure to sit further away from the engine and exhaust pipe this time. While we were waiting for the boat to leave, we struck up a game of shuttlecock with the Vietnamese guys we’d seen earlier on the beach. Our new friends had a twist to the game: any time someone dropped the cock, he or she had to do five push-ups on the deck. Chris and Diane in particular got a great ab workout in.
Unfortunately, our game was cut short by the cock going overboard. We all shared a somber moment, gripping the railings of the boat and staring forlornly at the pure-white, brand-new shuttlecock, bobbing dejectedly on the surface of the dark water. One of the guys seemed to be considering diving off the side and rescuing the poor thing, but his friends talked him out of it. Probably for the best.
As the ferry began to pull away from the shore minutes later, it struck me how much can be shared between people without saying anything. The guys knew very little English, and we knew even less Vietnamese, but we still felt like friends by the time we waved goodbye upon reaching the mainland and hailing our taxis. Connecting with strangers–through games, through laughter, through slapping each other’s rears in response to an especially-pathetic attempt at a push-up–is, to me, one of the greatest parts about traveling.
–Ari M. (Rachel)
We arrived in Ho Chi Minh late in the afternoon after a 6 or 7 hour bus ride in my new favorite mode of transportation- the sleeper bus. It’s pretty much your usual coach bus but there are 3 rows of seats that are all essentially halfway between bunkbeds and lazyboy reclining chairs, as there are two tiers of the seats. The weather was hot and sticky as we have all com accustomed to. We got off the bus and were immediately pursued by a crowd of anxious cab drivers, which we have also come accustomed to. We found ourselves a ride and quickly loaded up the three taxis with our bags. We rode for around 15mins into the city, the deeper we got the more traffic. It was pure insanity. The cab weaved its way through a sea of scooters all with somewhere to be. The traffic was like none I had ever seen before, even when compared to Phnom Penh. We arrived to the street the hotel was on. I got out of my taxi and paid out of my pocket because our leaders were not in sight. The driver pointed down the street the way we came, signaling that our hostel was down that way. We walked for about a block, still no one else in our group was visible. We just stood for a while, then finally the other two cabs arrived. We got to the hostel and then things go complicated. Because we made the reservations by phone the man who ran the hotel wasn’t sure if we were coming. I couldn’t understand why he would make such rash decisions but he did, so we dropped our bags in the park across the street with a few of us staying back while others went in search of another hotel to stay in. We ended up staying a very nice hotel on a back alley even closer to the epicenter of the backpackers district of town. I had a great time even just walking around on crowded streets of this district.
The first full day in the city we went to the war museum. It was horrible yet very informative seeing as most of the museum was dedicated to the war crimes committed by the U.S. It was interesting seeing the view of the war from another perspective and they did not hold back any details. It was especially tough seeing the exhibit on chemical warfare, the pictures were gut wrenching. However disturbing it was for the group I think everyone took something meaningful away from it.
Another great experience I had in Ho Chi Minh was later the first full day. Cal and I were walking back to the hotel after a day of exploring the city and we found ourselves in the same park that we dropped our bags in when looking for another place to stay. We stopped for a second to talk about what to do next. We were talking about grabbing dinner when we were approached by a young Vietnamese man in his mid 20s. He asked if we had time to talk to a group of students all in their 20s to help them practice their English. We said yes and continued over to a group of about 10 students. We talked about food and music and the upcoming American presidential race. It was a wonderful experience. When we left they gifted us a paper fan, a guide to exploring Saigon and a shuttlecock (a very popular Vietnamese game). We then walked away and had dinner. On another night Phone, George and I stopped to talk to more students. No gifts were given this time except the feeling of connection to the local people.
We continue our journey now during student directed travel week in Dalat. The town is small and the food is wonderful. I enjoyed alligator on the first night, and venison on the second. We rode a gondola to a hilltop pagoda yesterday and today we visited the absolutely beautiful Pangor Waterfall. Life on the road is good.
-Elliot Ross
