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Syndicate DisOrientated
OED adj. confused (someone) so that that they have lost their bearings.
n. Inept escapades of a dropout English journo trapped in the Far East. An eighteen-month evasion from reality.
29 April 2003
From Nha Trang it had to be Saigon. I rolled off the night train at 5am and after checking into the hotel for a nap wandered off to see the presidential palace. It was some time before I could find the place, having inadvertently strayed into a nearby park which had been transformed into a noisy trade fair complete with disco music and ostentatious consumerism.
Eventually I made it to the gates of the '60's-built palace, where on 30 April 1975 a tank crashed through the gates sealing the end of the regime. Stuffed with opulent reception rooms, it was perhaps the underground bunkers that were most interesting, a Vietnamese version of the cabinet war rooms including a comms centre stuffed with vintage kit that looked strangely familiar. Beside the palace I found the war remnants museum, a no-holds-barred display complete with pickled Agent Orange-distorted foetuses and photos of phosphorus burn victims.
Eventually I made it to the gates of the '60's-built palace, where on 30 April 1975 a tank crashed through the gates sealing the end of the regime. Stuffed with opulent reception rooms, it was perhaps the underground bunkers that were most interesting, a Vietnamese version of the cabinet war rooms including a comms centre stuffed with vintage kit that looked strangely familiar. Beside the palace I found the war remnants museum, a no-holds-barred display complete with pickled Agent Orange-distorted foetuses and photos of phosphorus burn victims.
28 April 2003
After Dalat, I spent a day and a half in Nha Trang sailing around the islands with what can only be described as a Butlin's style operation. The tour leader, Vinh Thanh Loc, introduced himself as 'Funky Monkey'. Indeed. The trip involved snorkelling, which I couldn't do, eating at the 'seafood party!!!" and "fruit party!!!" and sitting in a rubber ring downing cheapo sherry-like gutrot. Unfortunately due to my own negligence I sustained a bit of sunburn, awaking in the morning like I'd been napalmed.
24 April 2003
It's always refreshing (when you're hot) to transfer somewhere cooler, and Dalat was not disappointing. It did rain, however, which tempered things a little. I arranged to tour the town and surrounding area with a motorbike guide named Tien, and among other things saw some farming areas, several pagodas and waterfalls etc. Emperor Bao Dai's summer retreat was especially interesting, a stylish but fairly austere testament to the last days of the 1930s before it all went wrong.
I will stick to highlights. At the top of one staircase to a waterfall was a caged monkey which gave me an extremely dirty look as I passed. Stranger still, having visited a catholic convent I found the gate guarded by a man dressed as a panda. Elsewhere, a lady who handrolled 10,000 incense sticks a day said I looked very handsome, as did a sweetshop lady (after I'd tried most of her sweets without buying any) and a weaver in a village dominated by a huge chicken statue. There's certainly a lot to be said for Vietnam. Good things about Communism no. 3 - people are very complimentary.
I even learned to ride a Honda, a useful skill I may later put into practise. Furthermore, the underground nightclubs you wander into to escape the rain serve green tea as soon as you walk through the door and play nonstop Bon Jovi. This was tempered by the fact that people kept on wandering into my Dalat hotel room while I was asleep.
Tien himself was an interesting guide and we briefly spoke about politics. About 50 years old now, he had been a student of French literature when South Vietnam fell in 1975. Since his father had worked for the Saigon regime, this meant he had to spend time in 're-education' and ended up as a persimmon fruit farmer before becoming a tour guide. His father was not so lucky and died after eight years in the camps. I suppose these illustrate the bad things about communism.
I will stick to highlights. At the top of one staircase to a waterfall was a caged monkey which gave me an extremely dirty look as I passed. Stranger still, having visited a catholic convent I found the gate guarded by a man dressed as a panda. Elsewhere, a lady who handrolled 10,000 incense sticks a day said I looked very handsome, as did a sweetshop lady (after I'd tried most of her sweets without buying any) and a weaver in a village dominated by a huge chicken statue. There's certainly a lot to be said for Vietnam. Good things about Communism no. 3 - people are very complimentary.
I even learned to ride a Honda, a useful skill I may later put into practise. Furthermore, the underground nightclubs you wander into to escape the rain serve green tea as soon as you walk through the door and play nonstop Bon Jovi. This was tempered by the fact that people kept on wandering into my Dalat hotel room while I was asleep.
Tien himself was an interesting guide and we briefly spoke about politics. About 50 years old now, he had been a student of French literature when South Vietnam fell in 1975. Since his father had worked for the Saigon regime, this meant he had to spend time in 're-education' and ended up as a persimmon fruit farmer before becoming a tour guide. His father was not so lucky and died after eight years in the camps. I suppose these illustrate the bad things about communism.
21 April 2003
Next stop, Hoi An, where much of the C19th architecture survived the war making the town a Vietnamese Cricket St Thomas. I finally binned my old trousers and had some new ones made for a few dollars. If only that could be said for a birthday present I sent. Bad things about communism number one: it took me over an hour to fill in the paperwork and it cost me several times more to send the presents than buy them. However, I stayed in an extraordinarily plush hotel for a princely $10 - satellite TV, handmade furniture, balcony, minibar all included.
Having befriended the people at the excellent (and cheaper) restaurant opposite, the owner Thien took me to My Son, the latest stage of my quest to discover a new Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat it was not, but much older and still worth a look despite suffering somewhat from the influence of B-52s. I myself somewhat suffered from sitting on the back of his 1967 Honda all morning.
Having befriended the people at the excellent (and cheaper) restaurant opposite, the owner Thien took me to My Son, the latest stage of my quest to discover a new Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat it was not, but much older and still worth a look despite suffering somewhat from the influence of B-52s. I myself somewhat suffered from sitting on the back of his 1967 Honda all morning.
18 April 2003
Flying back to Hanoi I boarded the equally efficient train (good things about communism number 2) for Hue. You even get free food, who cares if it's inedible? Hue was another scene of battle during the 1968 Tet offensive. One can only imagine trying to fight in that heat. The centrepiece of Hue is the 19th century citadel, palace and pagoda, complete with some very picturesque gardens and holy cannons, urns etc. Later I took a boat trip to visit the tombs of C19th emperors - some spectacular, some not.
Hue being close to the 19th parallel, I subsequently set out for the Demilitarised Zone (DMZ), the demarcation line between North and South until 1975. In the west, little remains of Khe Sanh, the site of a bloody battle and immortalised in Michael Herr's reportage book "Dispatches". The wind kicking up eddies of the typical reddish brown dust only added to the eeriness. Also to be seen were parts of the Ho Chi Minh Trail (now an asphalt motorway with a cable stayed bridge), the Ben hay bridge and the Vinh Moc tunnels. Leading out onto the beach and the Pacific ocean, these semi permanent VC tunnels served as a base during the whole war and even included a maternity ward (a slightly bigger room, about the size of a WC). How thousands of people managed in there with only one toilet I did not ask.
Hue being close to the 19th parallel, I subsequently set out for the Demilitarised Zone (DMZ), the demarcation line between North and South until 1975. In the west, little remains of Khe Sanh, the site of a bloody battle and immortalised in Michael Herr's reportage book "Dispatches". The wind kicking up eddies of the typical reddish brown dust only added to the eeriness. Also to be seen were parts of the Ho Chi Minh Trail (now an asphalt motorway with a cable stayed bridge), the Ben hay bridge and the Vinh Moc tunnels. Leading out onto the beach and the Pacific ocean, these semi permanent VC tunnels served as a base during the whole war and even included a maternity ward (a slightly bigger room, about the size of a WC). How thousands of people managed in there with only one toilet I did not ask.
15 April 2003
From then I flew to Dien Bien Phu, scene of the catastrophic (for the French) siege of 1954. This was breaking my rule of not flying, but good things about communism number one: Vietnam airlines was extremely efficient with brand new Airbuses and ATR-70s etc. DBP is not very developed for tourists, and it was a struggle finding things to eat - eg. I walked into a restaurant and pointed at the food, but was greeted by one of the blankest looks I have ever met with. It was as if I had asked for a flight to the moon. In another place I asked for an ice cream and got rice pudding with kidney beans in it.
As for the history, the museum had some interesting stuff including the wooden chocks and bars the Viet Minh used to steady and haul artillery they dragged up the hills. There remain several old tanks and artillery pieces, and one can see the bunker where General de Castilles ate cheese and surrendered etc.
As for the history, the museum had some interesting stuff including the wooden chocks and bars the Viet Minh used to steady and haul artillery they dragged up the hills. There remain several old tanks and artillery pieces, and one can see the bunker where General de Castilles ate cheese and surrendered etc.
13 April 2003
On my last night in Hanoi I visited the state circus.
The first act was highly impressive. The woman balanced a tray of glasses on the hilt of a sword, the point of which she balanced on the tip of a dagger she held in her mouth. All this while swinging on the trapeze. This certainly provoked my imagination.
From there on in it all went wrong. During the first animal act a goat fell off a pole it was standing on and ended up suspended by its circus jacket. In protest the monkeys tried to hang themselves by the ropes round their necks. The humans fared little better. The man balancing on top of circular pipes fell off. The woman juggling a pot with her feet dropped it. To cap it all, during the finale one of the horses bucked its rider. It all got too scary and we were relieved when it was over!
The first act was highly impressive. The woman balanced a tray of glasses on the hilt of a sword, the point of which she balanced on the tip of a dagger she held in her mouth. All this while swinging on the trapeze. This certainly provoked my imagination.
From there on in it all went wrong. During the first animal act a goat fell off a pole it was standing on and ended up suspended by its circus jacket. In protest the monkeys tried to hang themselves by the ropes round their necks. The humans fared little better. The man balancing on top of circular pipes fell off. The woman juggling a pot with her feet dropped it. To cap it all, during the finale one of the horses bucked its rider. It all got too scary and we were relieved when it was over!
12 April 2003
Returning to Hanoi, I did a little more sightseeing. Hoa Loa prison, otherwise known as the Hanoi Hilton, was a shadow of its former self but some interesting displays about the French prison regime before 1954, and items such as John McCain's personal effects from when he was shot down and incarcerated. Air defence museum also worthwhile - a scrapyard full of shot down bits and pieces, including an entire F-4 Phantom jet plus displays about the 'musicians' and composers' anti-aircraft battery' ('they sang while the bombs dropped') and 'the silent battle of the heroic cooks'. Last night saw the water puppet show - very unusual. Kind of like Thunderbirds on a pond.
This morning, it was Ho Chi Minh's turn to be seen - you are processed around a circuit where you see his waxwork-like embalmed body, then his old house and a very strange museum symbolising the 'revolutionary struggle against fascism' complete with Picasso style fruit sculptures, a Bentley driving through the wall and some of Uncle Ho's pamphlets etc.
This morning, it was Ho Chi Minh's turn to be seen - you are processed around a circuit where you see his waxwork-like embalmed body, then his old house and a very strange museum symbolising the 'revolutionary struggle against fascism' complete with Picasso style fruit sculptures, a Bentley driving through the wall and some of Uncle Ho's pamphlets etc.
10 April 2003
Rising early on the 8th we were greeted by rain. Took a bus/boat tour to Halong bay and Cat Ba Island. Here magnificent karst rocks rise solemnly from the emerald sea. However, the towns themselves are not unlike Blackpool/Costa Del Sol with conical hats - even if it's not still under construction it's pretty tacky. Great photo ops though. On Cat Ba took a walk up a very slippery hill but visibility impaired by fog, which was a shame. Descended soaked by sweat and mist, an unusual combination. Almost as unusual as walking into a nightclub with a melting Cornetto and boogieing to Gloria Gaynor/Micheal Jackson with a 65-year old Vietnamese, a gay Vietnamese who tried to crack onto me, a Belgian tranny and a Czech ballet dancer. All True.
07 April 2003
Good morning from Vietnam. Ten dollar me love you long time etc. etc.
For the last few days I have been sightseeing with the five other Westerners who shared the bus experience (an Irishman, a German Limp Bizkit wannabe, a Swede and a Danish couple). First impressions of Hanoi were a little nerve wracking - few cars but thousands of scooters - it's as if everyone has nothing to do but ride around all day. The hotel we are in is actually very nice and friendly yet cheap.
The German bloke got sold a packet of tea instead of grass which served him right.
Spent a day walking round one of Hanoi's picturesque lakes, reputed to contain a magic turtle. Also saw the Temple of Literature, Vietnam's answer to University College, Oxford, but with more stone turtles and gaudy storks.
For the last few days I have been sightseeing with the five other Westerners who shared the bus experience (an Irishman, a German Limp Bizkit wannabe, a Swede and a Danish couple). First impressions of Hanoi were a little nerve wracking - few cars but thousands of scooters - it's as if everyone has nothing to do but ride around all day. The hotel we are in is actually very nice and friendly yet cheap.
The German bloke got sold a packet of tea instead of grass which served him right.
Spent a day walking round one of Hanoi's picturesque lakes, reputed to contain a magic turtle. Also saw the Temple of Literature, Vietnam's answer to University College, Oxford, but with more stone turtles and gaudy storks.
05 April 2003
In Luang Prabang, I climbed the main Phu Si hill at the centre of town. I spoke to a young monk who asked for a donation for his English course - I gave him US$0.50 but he demanded $5 - cheeky monkey. Also while in town I visited a couple of temples and the Palace Museum, the next day setting out by boat to see some underwhelming caves (full of bhuddas again). That afternoon headed for a waterfall which was much nicer, swinging off a rope into the pool, though a German I shared the tuk-tuk with got a leech...
The next couple of days were a drag since I had to return to Vientiene by bus and then get a bus to Hanoi. The US$25 luxury aircon vehicle I had expected did not materialise so instead I spent another 12 hours packed into a tiny seat with lots of locals who for some reason always carry two sacks of rice each, cramping the bus further. Confusion reigned at the border, though the driver did help out a bit. We were then packed into an even smaller and more uncomfortable bus for 12 more hours. Thank God Vietnam has trains.
The next couple of days were a drag since I had to return to Vientiene by bus and then get a bus to Hanoi. The US$25 luxury aircon vehicle I had expected did not materialise so instead I spent another 12 hours packed into a tiny seat with lots of locals who for some reason always carry two sacks of rice each, cramping the bus further. Confusion reigned at the border, though the driver did help out a bit. We were then packed into an even smaller and more uncomfortable bus for 12 more hours. Thank God Vietnam has trains.
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