All you need to know about Vietnam, from the unique perspective of the British equivalent of Inspector Clouseau, who usually turns up at the airport and says, “Where are we going?”
Collecting my travel money in advance of my Southeast Asian late October adventure to a place personally epitomised by the hauntingly vibrant Paul Hardcastle track “19,” I was immediately aware of two milestones: I was an instant multimillionaire and I’d be continually flashing my dong.
First stop was Hanoi and a chance to sample the local hospitality whilst train spotting in the aptly named Train Street. I had guessed that the locomotive would be up close and personal as it passed, but the actual experience was insane as the huge diesel Goliath virtually skimmed my toes.
Waking up in the morning, all digits were accounted for, but twattocks had forgotten to spray on insect repellent and as the day progressed it was clear that the minuscule mossies had gorged on the fresh meat of my pale inviting legs.
A walkabout located various temples, and the abundance of food offerings made me peckish. I made a beeline for Koto after a stop off at the Vietnamese Museum of Ethnology, where I checked out the local talent and admired some early indigenous porn.
Koto’s had celebrated some notable guests, including President Bill Clinton, who was equally famous for allegedly providing sustenance for Monica Lewinsky. Vietnamese food is beyond delicious.
A quick hop over the road led to the Temple of Literature, where I was enthusiastically encouraged to gatecrash a graduation ceremony in my apt attire of Notts County’s third strip, proudly sponsored by the University of Nottingham.
A stroll past the sombre mausoleum of Ho-Chi Minh epitomised the no-nonsense brutal influence of the third syllable of the regional descriptor: Indochina. The gayly suited guards were nonetheless poised to neutralise anyone who dared enter a restricted zone. As a former senior cop, I had a professional respect for these guys since I’d failed my firearms course with distinction. I think my final assessment contained words to the effect that I couldn’t hit a barn door with a banjo.
Heading back to downtown Hanoi, I was aware that sooner or later I’d happen upon a section of dialect that would fulfil the child within.
“You go on date with me and I promise I …”
The jury is still out on the water puppet show, but the synergy with the entrance adornment didn’t go unchecked.
Squelching back to the hotel through the sudden downpour (pack an anorak for this time of the year), I once again realised that the ceiling height in the shower catered for the domestic visitor, rather than a 6’2” dope.
The next day was a three-hour drive to Halong Bay, stopping off for a quick gander at the artificial inducement inflicted upon oysters to bang out a pearl for some humans to decorate themselves in. I was nevertheless taken in by the experience and gave a lady a pearl necklace before being escorted away by security and banned from the premises indefinitely.
The ensuing overnight cruise around the mysterious mountainous monoliths – the backdrop to the 2016 King Kong movie, Skull Island – was simply sensational. And what a stupendous stage to plug the book I wrote to a bunch of speedway fans from Adelaide!
Da Nang – the host of the hospital that treated one of my all-time super humans, Forrest Gump – was my next stop, where I was soon whisked off to the oasis of Hoi An, famous for the spiritually luminous lanterns that bring a smile to the most granite features of the usual Brit abroad when unable to find a Dog and Duck Tavern to consume a pint of lukewarm lager.
The Mỹ Sơn temple complex was part of the itinerary, and although I’m always impressed by a religious site (even if I can’t fathom religion), having been privileged to gaze upon Angkor Wat and the Taj Mahal, I was left to hum the Shania Twain classic “That Don’t Impress Me Much.” Although, to be fair, it held up well to the sporadic visits by the US Airforce that left several gaping bomb craters dotted around this UNESCO World Heritage Centre.
I decided to expand my clothing range from three Notts shirts and a pair of Primark pants and order a new going out out jacket. I was super impressed with the efforts of Hanh and Vang, with the former whispering to her attentive colleague, “Jacket for phat phuc,” which I believe means “handsome man.”
The night markets were bustling with traders all keen to do a deal, although I’m absolutely shite at the art of bartering. Rule of thumb though, offer half the amount displayed on the calculator (no items are priced) and trade-off from there.
The magic of travel is more than soaking up the scenes, smells, and sophistication of other cultures as inevitably my favourite casual attire can often spark up a conversation – although being a Notts fan it’s usually words of condolence.
Dressed in our fluorescent orange away kit, I throbbed like one of the many orbs that ordained the ancient town and a nearby couple picked up on the East Midlands statement. The rest of the evening was magical as we traded stories and views on the dysfunctional state of our homeland, even though Claire and John had emigrated to Australia from the North-East some time ago. And happily, here too were fellow explorers Yvonne and John, whom I’d first met in Kong country, possessors of the most soothing of Belfast accents – they could make the iPhone warranty sound like a Shakespearean sonnet. The invitation to knock on their door the next time I am in the place that launched the Titanic may have been a throw away comment, but since I am mesmerised by the story of this incredible vessel, I consider this to be a firm booking.
My last night in Hoi An, and I lit a candle for the ones I’ve lost, watching it bob towards the ornate bridge that connected the Chinese and Japanese quarters before disappearing amongst the throngs of other symbols of hope and remembrance. Next stop was Hue.
Arriving at the hotel late afternoon there was time to freshen up before heading downtown. An assault on the senses ensued as I experienced the Vietnamese equivalent of Benidorm, combined with a density of motorcycles and mega pints – a shout out for local brew Huda – that defied all expectations.
The seemingly chaotic highway code hides an incredible sense of symmetry and safety; I never saw a collision or near miss. Seemingly, for motorcyclists, green, amber, and red traffic light signals simply mean go. So, if you are going to cross the road it’s head down and run Forrest, run (or at least a quick amble but don’t stop)! On the plus side, the locals drive at around half the normal manic speed of UK drivers.
Next day, and it was exploration time to savour the real spirit and culture of this incredible city. Be warned, you’ll need your walking shoes on – I soon rued my decision to travel light with only one pair. At this stage of my travels I was clocking up an average of six miles per day.
I had promised myself that when I reached a certain age I’d never wear sandals, and since I can’t carry off flip-flops, my trainers soon ponged like a poodle’s pee. On leaving the many temples I could easily locate my footwear with my eyes shut.
I absolutely adore the grandeur of classic cultural architecture, albeit the weariness of supreme power and wealth that suppresses the masses will forever stick in my craw. There were many moments for thoughtful reflection upon the symbol of peaceful Hinduism that was ultimately hijacked by evil.
The energetic conviviality of guide Nguyen was infectious and once we talked English football he became an honorary Magpie. It did, however, get a tad lost in translation, since I’m pretty sure that his obsession with historical dates had him convinced that I’ve been following Notts since their formation in 1862. Tipping may be an uncommon practice, but I generally did as the service was second to none, especially the guy who gallantly peddled me around on his tricycle made for one.
Ho-Chi Minh City or, as many locals still call it, Saigon, was the next stop. A true modern day city vibe integrated with some breathtaking culture and the nearby atmospheric Củ Chi tunnel network.
Keen-as-mustard tour guide Ha indicated that the site visit would take about an hour-and-a-half and as we edged towards it, I began to worry. That length of time underground with my height and I’d be sweating like a scouser watching Crimewatch.
Luckily enough, the majority of the experience was above ground where the incredible military prowess and ingenuity of the Viet Kong army was laid bare: a masterclass in subterfuge and guerrilla warfare.
Taking aim with an AK 47 assault rifle was a great way to deal with the stress of having to negotiate my way around groups of tourists being shepherded by a guide holding aloft a little flag. And especially, the annoying French chap who thought he owned the place (your lot got kicked out in 1954). Then there was, of course, a tunnel experience.
I’ve navigated some uncomfortable experiences in my previous life as a cop, so why would I volunteer to be crouched, cramped, and sweltering with, no doubt, my face proximate to a sweaty hairy arse in a human chain of slow-moving tourists along 20 metres of backbreaking terrain. But to be fair, my claustrophobia argued the best-case scenario and I remained topside. Next stop: Mũi Né, Binh Thuan Province.
This was chill time – the calm after the storm of full-on exploration and Mũi Né didn’t disappoint, with its golden sands, incredible clouds, and magical sun kissed skyline. As a far from confident swimmer and hater of cold water, I even ventured nipple deep into the warm swirls of the South China Sea.
The strip outside is bland, but I did eat at a local place that had on the menu whole fried frog, crocodile, ostrich, and cobra. On this occasion, curiosity didn’t kill the cat, and I took the safer bet with the abundant local seafood. Nonetheless, it reminded me of the resourcefulness and ingenuity of the populous who, similar to my previous experience in neighbouring Cambodia, demonstrate that a heritage built on poverty leads to the most surreal sounding dishes. Having also visited bordering China to the north, this is amplified by the substantive claim that every part of a chicken is cooked, apart from the cluck.
Even with historical invasions, governance by foreign power, and having been under the cosh of US military might, the Vietnamese people still have a keen satirical take on life, but moreover, they are kind, considerate, and welcoming.
Definitely a place for all wally wanderers and not so idiotic people to visit.
And, finally, with my best Robin Williams impression, I only have one more thing to say –
Goodbye Vietnam!
Trip stats:
25th October to 10th November 2024.
Travel agent: Trailfinders.
Accommodation reviews:
Hanoi: Conifers Boutique Hotel. Quiet, compact, twee, and only a short walk from the centre of town.
Hoi An: La Siesta Resort & Spa. Luxurious, lavish, and ideally situated for a walk into the ancient city. Swimming pools and spa treatments aplenty.
Hue: Pilgrimage Village. Wow! The full 5-star treatment with staff who would literally breathe for you if you so wished. A twenty-minute hotel shuttle service into the city centre.
Ho Chi Minh City: Sanouva Saigon Hotel. If you like a quiet Travel Lodge, this is for you. Nonetheless, ideally situated for exploring the city.
Sailing Club Resort Mũi Né. Boutique beachside bliss, ideally situated beyond the main town. Overall rating: chill to the power of chill.
Bluesky Serviced Apartments Airport Plaza (Ho Chi Minh City). The night before the early flight home. Smart, soundproofed, functional and as the name suggests, a stone’s throw away from the airport.
© Ian Kirke 2024 and all photographs.
@ianjkirke