Off to Saigon

The next morning, as we checked out, awaiting our car to Da Nang train station, and saddened that the quick turnaround did not allow for multiple extra fittings with Em Ma, a motorbike zipped up at the last minute to deliver our clothes. We said farewell to a beautiful, relaxing, fulfilling (and filling) week in Hoi An. As we write, we are sitting on our berth, alone in our cabin on the train to Saigon. All told, it will be near 16 hours (and 4:30am) when we arrive. The first leg of our trip from Da Nang to Nha Trang has been uneventful, besides the less-than-spotless mattresses and blankets and the frequent, if hilarious, interruptions of the grinning beverage/snack cart woman. Still so early in the trip, we undoubtedly have many unknown adventures still ahead of us and hope they are as innocuous as those on our last overnight train….

Update: We made it all the way to Quang Ngai (halfway between Da Nang and Nha Trang ~ 5 hours) without company in our berth and happily updating a week’s “back blog” (ha) and watching a rainstorm in the countryside as we passed. Making mental note to remember to bring a pack of playing cards on all future vacations. The train stopped in Quang Ngai and we abruptly had cabinmates. The first opened the door and stopped to give us the full once over before entering. A non-descript gentleman in his late 40s with nothing but an attaché case he didn’t initially respond to Katie’s cheerful, “hi!”. After a painstaking 45 seconds or so he apparently found us innocuous enough and entered but not before yelling something we assume to the effect of, “Hey, look who’s in my cabin…” down the hallway because seconds later there were 3-5 additional curious faces of similar businessmen peering in at us. The onlookers dispersed with the arrival of our second cabinmate, another businessman, perhaps a bit younger who gave us a polite nod and then climbed up to his bunk and laid down.

Whether they didn’t speak English or that they failed to find novelty in the young western travelers like many of their compatriots, or both, we don’t know. But, as we waited for some type of interaction, we soon realized it was not to be. The closest thing was after a little tickle in her nose, Katie sneezed, the man on the top bunk sat up, reached for his bag and pulled out and adorned a surgical mask for the remainder of the trip. Katie and Adam exchanged eye-contact but not a word, finding it hilarious that he was as concerned about catching something from us,as we were from him.

The remaining few hours awake were spent with Adam reading, and Katie fighting motion sickness while trying to write wedding thank you notes and then subsequently dozing in and out for the remaining 8+ hours until we reached Saigon just before dawn. We dropped our luggage at the luxury Rex Hotel in the Dong Khoi District at the center of District 1 and wandered off into the waking city.

We attended the 0530 Catholic mass at the Notre Dame Cathedral across from the Central Post Office. The mass, all in Vietnamese, was well-attended and luckily the sprawling pink and white cathedral offered plenty for us to look at when we couldn’t guess which part of the liturgy we were listening to. We wandered past the Reunification Palace where an NVA tank (now parked out front) famously crashed through the gates symbolizing the fall of Saigon in 1975. We then past the Opera House where two men were setting up chairs and speakers for a morning concert on the steps. We lingered in a coffee shop trying to decipher a Vietnamese version of GQ and then reading the extremely interesting English version of the Vietnam Financial Review before heading to Pho 24 for breakfast. Finally, at 10AM we were allowed to check in at our hotel where we found, yet again, we had been upgraded. (woo!) Now, to rinse the train grime away and get ready to explore Vietnam’s biggest city….

My Son by Motorbike

The next morning, we headed out early, picked up at our hotel by Johnny, who completely fit the part of jet set wheeler and dealer and not at all a local tour guide. He showed up with his brother and two motorbikes to carry us the 50km up into the mountains to My Son.
If our first motorbike trip was a refreshing little jaunt, this was a bugs-in-teeth, tail bone bruising, wonderful experience. Somehow the countryside looks more beautiful in the open air. Adam nonchalantly climbed aboard Johnny’s bike, and, like the locals, used one hand to brace himself on the rear handle. Katie, on the other hand, quickly became close friends with Johnny’s brother, who spoke no English, but smiled as she broke the local custom of holding onto the driver, clinging to him for what she thought was dear life. Despite the language barrier, he knew every time he took a corner too tight or was going to fast by the increased clamping of Katie’s grip.

The way to My Son meanders through rice patties, timber forests, along bumpy-but-more-or-less-well-paved roads, and up into the cooler, quiet mountains. Upon leaving Hoi An, most of the traffic was students, in their white shirts and red handkerchiefs, on bicycles. One notable exception, on the outskirts of the modern town of My Son was a caravan of motorbikes, strapped with cages packed with pigs.

My Son is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and like Angkor Wat was a holy city with temples dedicated to the Hindu Gods. Unlike Angkor, it belonged to the Champa Empire, and dates to the 4th Century AD. The Champa maintained close ties with the Hindu empires of Indonesia, and were constantly at war with their Khmer, Viet, and Chinese neighbors. The 71 temples constructed in the valley at My Son were often erected to celebrate victories in their many wars of expansion, before succumbing finally to Viet domination.

Of the 71 temples, only three remain standing after 1000 years, but most acutely after US bombs leveled the valley to force out the Vietcong, who used it as a refuge. Again, we cannot describe the architecture, as we would not do it justice. Nor can we put into words the serene, almost mystical atmosphere of the surrounding natural beauty. As with places like Stone Henge or Tikal, you can understand why Hindu priests of millennia past would place their holiest of sites there. Apparently the ancient Indochinese Hindu kingdoms were divided along sectarian, as well as ethnic lines. The Cham who built My Son, worshiped Shiva as the pre-eminent God, the Khmer of Angkor Brahma, and the Indonesians Ganesha. Tributes to Shiva were scattered among the remaining stellae, altars, and carved frescoes among the crumbling buildings. The other, most important, symbol seen all over the complex, was the linga and yoni, representing male and female, respectively, as an augur of fertility (and to each the male and female incarnations of Shiva).

After our licensed guide had finished his cursory one hour tour, we were left alone to take photos. Sadly, unlike the Imperial City in Hue, My Son was crawling with tourists, who arrived in droves on tour buses. Indeed, being a UNESCO World Heritage Site means that you can no longer fly under the radar of fanny-pack-wearing Germans or photo-snapping Japanese.
When we had seen all we needed to, we picked up Johnny and his brother, who had been catching crickets to feed his pet bird, and had a couple beers at the site’s restaurant. We chatted about Johnny’s business ventures, Vietnam, the US, and topics across the full spectrum, as new friends will. Johnny’s brother sat silently, eyeing his crickets. Katie mentioned to Johnny that she had hoped to have snails in Hue, but had missed every opportunity to do so. Johnny suggested that we have a late lunch back just outside Hoi An at a great spot he knew that specialized in snails and grilled fresh fish. We also happened to see our friend from Hue, who had come to My Son with a couple clients of Hue Riders. We exchanged pleasantries, and he wished us continued safe and happy travels.

On the way back to Hoi An, Katie, feeling more adventuresome, was getting the knack of being a motorbike passenger, and only clung to her driver when she saw bumps approaching. About midway on the journey, Johnny got a flat…somewhat miraculously in the middle of a town, and more miraculously, directly in front of a motorbike repair shop (we wondered if they had tacked the road). After a quick, nonchalant and seemingly-routine patch job, we were back on track.

On the outskirts of Hoi An, we veered off on a side road that travelled along the river, past rice patties and, very surprisingly, a cruise ship beached in the mud, now serving as a floating restaurant and conference center. We hoped this would not be our lunch destination… thankfully, it wasn’t. Another mile down the road, we pulled into an unmarked, deserted, open air restaurant whose deck butted up to the water. Johnny ordered in Vietnamese as we walked to our table, and the owner and her daughters brought out local LaRue beer (mineral water for the drivers) and a pot of snails. The snails were huge, almost as big as Katie’s fist, and a little more chewy than expected. But they were steamed in chiles, garlic and broth, and served over fresh mint and young banana and cucumber slices. Delicious.

Next, the owner brought out a hot plate and a steamer with the lid on, hiding the contents and set it in the middle of the table. Johnny explained that this was the food that foreigners can’t get because they don’t know how to ask for it, and what the locals truly love. He was right. When the valve on the steamer began to puff, he raised the lid, and we saw (and smelled) a whole fish in saffron broth, banana leaves, chiles, garlic, and who knows what other delights. The fish was served over thin noodles, in its own broth. It simply knocked our socks off. This, without question, has been our favorite meal in Vietnam, thus far, and frankly will be hard to beat. The food alone would inspire this sentiment, but experiencing this with our new Vietnamese friends, in a restaurant off the beaten path made it all the more memorable. If we could tell you how to get there, we would. But sadly, this recommendation is not easily replicated.

On the way to Em Ma’s shop (the termination of our tour, and where we hoped to be fitted in our new clothes), Adam was involved in his first motorbike accident. Reentering the city, on busy streets only two blocks from Em Ma’s shop, Johnny following his brother, looked to pass a truck that was stopped to make a lefthand turn. Seeing the coast was clear, he veered right around the truck, just as a woman (on a motorbike, of course) sped across the intersection without looking from the other side of the truck. Johnny managed to swerve and keep his bike upright, as she clipped his front end, and slid into the middle of the street. For a brief moment, a sight rarely seen happened: all the traffic on a Vietnamese street stopped dead to inspect the scene. Amazingly, and mercifully, the girl got up uninjured. Everyone dusted themselves off, and the break-neck pace of traffic resumed.

Unfortunately, our garments weren’t ready, so we took advantage of the afternoon with a few more hours on the beach. Having booked for five nights, after our two extensions, we were given a complimentary dinner at the hotel restaurant. Not the best meal, but how do you turn down free food? Plus, finally, the tide cooperated, allowing for the hotel to deploy its floating lanterns. The beautiful red and green paper glowed with each lick of flame, and was perfectly soothing after the fast (though exceptionally fun) pace of the day.

Clothes, Shoes and Seafood: A Hoi An Love Story

Early the next morning, we took our time leaving our riverside apartment to mosey along to breakfast in the lobby, knowing that we’d have to suck it up and move to one of the deluxe rooms for the rest of our stay (alas, our upgrade wasn’t permanent). The complimentary breakfast here wasn’t quite the Camellia’s. Though the Pho was OK, most of the food catered to far less adventurous mainly-European tourists. Croissants and pastries are fine, but we don’t want them to take the place of the delights of Vietnam. Still, the riverside verandah where the breakfast tables were set made it all worth it, and we resolved that a free meal beats one you have to pay for. We’d just make up for it by finding great Vietnamese food for lunch and dinner.

It was probably noon by the time we boarded the shuttle to town. Getting off at our Hotel’s sister site in the city center, cleverly named Hoi An Hotel, we used Lonely Planet’s Hoi An walking tour as a framework to explore the town (liberally adding and subtracting sites), something easy to do in a place as small and friendly as Hoi An. The “sites” of Hoi An are mainly 18th and 19th century assembly halls erected by Chinese merchants. Before the river silted over, Hoi An was the major trading port of Central Vietnam, to be superseded in following centuries by Da Nang. The delegation halls bear the names of the Chinese regions from which the merchants came: Canton, Hainan, etc. There are also some lovely pagodas and a picturesque Japanese covered bridge. But the true draw of Hoi An is not the sites, but the silks. Aside from the natural beauty of the beach and river, people come to Hoi An to shop. We recommend, when in Vietnam, you do little shopping (and certainly no garment shopping) before you arrive in Hoi An.

While strolling past a 16th century temple dedicated to the Chinese hero of the Warring States period, Zhuge Liang, we were approached by a girl who invited us to visit her family’s silk shop, hidden in the city market. Now, a point that we did not know before arriving in Hoi An, is that the vendors can be divided into two groups: those that may sell in the market, and those that may not. According to our new friend, the government does not tax sellers in the market as heavily as those who have actual storefronts on the streets. Therefore, she said, the prices in the market were lower than the other vendors’.

Wanting to procure some new suits and dresses, and Katie putting on her game face, we happily followed her into the warren of stands under the familiar blue tarps. In the central market building, we passed rows of identical tailor stands, sewing machines, and stacked fabrics of silk, wool, and linen until we reached her sister’s shop, identified only by its number, 52. We spent a couple hours there being measured, picking out fabrics and styles, and, of course, haggling over the price. After eventually receiving the “honeymoon discount,” we were told to come back in about 24 hours to try on the new clothes they were to craft for us for fine-tuning.

We came to find that one of the girls measuring us was not, in fact, a tailor, but a cobbler, whose family owned the shoe shop just around the bend. Helping her friends out of boredom, curiosity, and an eye for new business, she invited us to take a look at some books of shoe styles that she and her young cousin would make for us. As an aside: we might have turned this offer down, had Katie’s room mate Kristan not sworn by a pair of boots she had made in Hoi An.
As we looked through books of shoes, it was a pleasure to sit and chat with Vi and Ha (18 and 23, respectively) about universal female topics: boyfriends, honeymoons, sexy shoes, and babies (Adam was nonplussed). The girls were sincere in their well-wishes for us as newlyweds, and honest in their bargaining. So, another couple of hours later, we were told to expect a few pairs of new shoes to try on the next day.

Considering our day rather successful (2 new suits, 2 tailored shirts and a pair of shoes for Adam; 2 new dresses, a pair of boots, and a pair of “sexy shoes” for Katie), we set our sights on dinner. While certainly not a traditional Vietnamese hole in the wall, Before and Now, a swanky hipster fusion restaurant suited our needs. Full of expats and trendy Vietnamese, offering endless Euro-pop music, wi-fi and cool, politically charged original artwork, this place was definitely worth the slightly higher (very relative, of course) prices. At a table next to paintings of Che in sunglasses imposed on a coca-cola label, and titled “Enjoy Che Guacola,” and Bono emblazoned with the Superman logo, we enjoyed seafood spring rolls, Hoi An specialty “white rose” dumplings, and a bottle of Temperanillo (did we mention they had a great wine list and elegant stemware to match? This was a first on our trip). After dinner, we carried our full bellies back to the shuttle and headed home to take a quick dip in one of the two pools at the resort before turning in.

Upon waking up on our third morning, we realized that we were finally getting into the relaxed flow of Hoi An and decided to extend our stay another two nights. Spending the morning at the beach (where we somehow got wireless reception that allowed Katie to write a final exam for class), we planned our afternoon around picking up our garments and shoes. After a few hours in town, including multiple fittings of clothes and shoes requiring some fine adjustments, we snacked by the riverside at a restaurant simply known by its address, 69. We had yet another spectacularly fresh seafood salad. The fishermen in Hoi An do brisk business, so the seafood there is exceptionally fresh. We saw this firsthand as we strolled through the market later that day.

After having another drink at Before and Now (why leave a good thing?) and realizing that our shoes would not be ready til the next morning, we headed back to our palapa until sundown. As we mentioned, the pace of life in Hoi An becomes infectious. Having two more days before needing to board another overnight train for Saigon, we decided the Beach would get our full attention on one (it may not be imaginative, but was exactly what we needed) and My Son, the ancient holy city of the Champa Empire would take the other.

So heading back into town the next morning to pick up our shoes, in the middle of a fishing shop, we ran into Em Ma, a new character to add to the cast. She emplored us to take a look at her silk shop, telling us the secret of shopping in Hoi An is, in fact, to avoid the market, where many different craftsmen and the cronies they use to motorbike their goods from homes to market take a commission, which, in turn, drives up the price. Intrigued at the possibility that we’d been had (despite being happy with both product and price at 52), we followed her to her store. She assured us anything was possible in the less than two days we had left, and subsequently, we ordered more clothes at what was, indeed, a cut rate from what we’d paid in the market. Sitting in the shop, drinking tea, and chatting with family members was a treat (including Adam playing a color matching game with Em Ma’s tiny neice, Mango; and Katie having her hair braided by sisters). And, by the way, keeping it all in the family, we booked our ride to My Son with Em Ma’s son, Johnny, who spoke excellent English from his business dealings in Europe and Australia.

After dinner at a restaurant recommended by the family (featuring a dynamite grilled fish in banana leaf), we headed back to the hotel for a late night drink and to see the lanterns in the water… which were not in the water… perhaps the tides worked against us.

To the Beach!

The trip by road to Hoi An takes you down highway 1, through the heart of Da Nang, and along the coast. About an hour into the ride, we stopped at a ramshackle beach resort on the Northern outskirts of Da Nang. “We stop twenty minutes” our driver said, as our fellow German passengers trooped out. Upon a second glance, the resort seemed like it may have been beautiful once, before successive typhoons and floods literally washed what was once a long esplanade with palm hut villas into the sea.

As the air conditioning was shut off when the bus stopped, we decided to take a short stroll, rather than broil in our seats. The stop was undoubtedly a favor to someone’s buddy who ran the hotel bar. After re-mounting the bus, we ambled on again down highway 1, past Monkey Mountain and into Da Nang. Picture, if you will, Miami Beach’s wide boulevards combined with Beirut, and you have a glimpse at Da Nang. Brand new beach condos being erected everywhere on either side of depleted neighborhoods, still showcasing war damage (including the immense ruin of the US air base in the center of the city). But everywhere, the city seems to teem with renewal and life. Though, apparently, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as, for the first time, Katie and Adam’s impressions of the city were polar opposites. Katie’s interest in Da Nang (like many of its natives) was simply how one might profit there, while Adam wished that the trip had included at least one night in the city. In any case, they did agree that investing in one of the sweet new homes on China Beach (extending south from Da Nang almost to Hoi An) would be well worth exploring (leaving aside the unimaginable pains of owning property in a communist country).

In the midst of China Beach, just south of the city, lie the marble mountains: three jutting hills that seem to spring from nowhere, and quarried for generations to produce marble statuary. This led to tourist trap number two: we were plopped at the foot of the largest of the three mountains (identifiable by a large pagoda perched atop an outcrop halfway to the summit). However, we were not given time to climb the winding staircase, carved into the interior of the mountain, to the top. Rather, we were given the cursory 20 minutes to peruse the several statue shops at the foot of the stairs (again, undoubtedly a favor to the shop owners, who must have been somebody’s second cousin twice removed).

Of the many shopkeepers trying to wave us in, we responded immediately to a woman who, upon hearing we were American, said, “USA! Totally awesome!!!” As we stepped in, she pointed at Adam’s dimpled smile and said they were a gift from the Laughing Buddha, and he would have a happy, long life. Katie, despite having a soft spot for the woman, morphed quickly into the haggling ninja, yet again. She broke the vendor down with several tools in her arsenal, such as accusatorily shaking her head that “this one is not good quality,” laughing at the asking price, continually checking her watch, and, finally, as the price approached her desired limit, counting out “everything in her pockets,” which seemed to always be just shy of the final asking price. While the proprietress didn’t like it, in the end some money was better than no money, and she relented. This kabuki dance took a full 22 minutes, and we had to run for our bus, slowly rolling back toward the highway with the door open for us, if we could catch it.

Arriving at the Hoi An bus “station” around noon, we took what would be our first motorbike ride in Vietnam to our Hotel, Hoi An Beach Resort. Now, as an aside, the motorbike in Vietnam is probably the equivalent of the horse in the Old West. Everyone has one, everyone needs one, everyone loves his, and occasionally they are stolen or have to be put out of their misery. So you cannot experience Vietnam without venturing onto the back of someone’s Honda Om from time to time, but we recommend you carefully choose when and where (In the small town of Hoi An, it’s a daunting enough feat, let alone the Hell Rides of Hanoi and Saigon).

The 5km ride to the beach was fantastic, wind in your hair, beautiful river views (Hoi an is a few kilometers upriver from the South China Sea), and plenty of shops, hotels, wharfs and fishing sampans. The total ride took just a couple minutes and cost all of $3, though they did tack on an extra 50cents for carrying the luggage (frankly an impressive feat, with two adults on each bike and two somewhat large suitcases). The Hoi An Beach Resort is paradise by anyone’s definition: scattered villas with terra cotta roofs, backing to a picturesque river, dotted with sampans and (at night) floating lanterns, and facing the long, white sand beach along the South China sea.

Upon checking in, we realized that we had been upgraded for free to the executive suite in honor of our honeymoon. We opened the door to an obscenely sumptuous room that we will never forget. The wall between two deluxe rooms had been knocked down to create a luxury apartment with two riverfront balconies, teak floors, a dining room and sitting room replete with expensive Asian furniture, and a sauna bathroom with a stone and gravel path to the rainforest shower AND an enormous jacuzzi. The bed was adorned with rose petals in the shape of an enormous heart around two towels, shaped like swans kissing. You couldn’t even get a Holiday Inn room in the states for what we paid for this luxurious treatment.

After happily leaving reality and basking in our new-found sense of grandeur, we walked across the street to the hotels beach palapas. For those you unfamiliar with the term, a palapa is like a palm-thatched, permanent beach umbrella, like you would see in postcards of the Caribbean or Hawaii. After getting our towels from the stand and putting our backpack down, we dipped our toes into the bathtub-temperature water of the South China Sea. We happily lounged for the remainder of the afternoon on the sand, listening to the waves gently roll in, and enjoying our view across the bay of the mountains on nearby Cham Island.As we headed back to our room, you will not be surprised that we immediately stopped into the lobby to extend our initially-booked two-night stay by one more night. Let us now shamelessly plug the Hoi An Beach Resort. If you ever find yourself in Vietnam, you must take time to visit Hoi An. And should you find yourself in Hoi An, you will do yourself a disservice to stay in town. While the town has a small town feel and unique character of its own, it is worth it to stay on the beach, Cua Dai beach to be exact, where most hotels have a complimentary shuttle into town. If you happen to find yourself in need of a hotel on Cua Dai beach, please consider patronizing the Hoi An Beach Resort, you’ll be thankful you did.

Hue Out There

Our first afternoon in Hue (after arriving on the train, showering, and getting our bearings set) was taken up with a long walk from the hotel in the new city, across the perfume river bridge and into the ancient citadel of Hue. Though we didn't stop for any toursit attractions on this day, we walked completely around the walls of the Imperial City within the citadel, and strolled along the river front, stopping to explore some of the imposing gates to the citadel. Hue was surprisingly devoid of tourists this time of year, so we were able to climb the ramparts alone and take in the views without interruption from chattering Germans or tour guides.

After some strolling in the hot sun (Hue is far more hot an humid than Hanoi, and we fear this will only get worse as we move south. Can't imagine what it's like in the summer time), we decided we were both starving. After searching dozens of blocks for an ATM (we'd been told by a waitress to walk 1000 meters down one street to get to one, only to find she'd pointed us in the wrong direction), we finally found one, on the road leading back out of the citadel, so we decided to head back across the river to get a couple much-needed cold beers. We stopped at a corner expat establishment called DMZ bar. Full of Aussies and selling DMZ-themed t-shirts, this place definitely satisfied our thirst with a couple Festival and Huda beers (Hue local brews... if you're in the area, stick with Festival). Disappointingly, the menu featured mainly western burgers and sandwiches, so we decided to pay for the beer and keep strolling to find a more promising spot.

A little farther down the block, past several expat and backpacker hostels and, amazingly, a French restaurant rated in Le Michelin, we stopped at Ushi, a Vietnamese restaurant with modern, pan-Asian decor and alluring smells coming from the kitchen. We sat and ate and drank a few more Festivals before heading back to the hotel to check email, rest, and cool down a bit.

That evening, we ventured out a little later to find dinner. Strolling through the neighborhood we were staying in, we came across Phuong Nam, a tiny dingy looking establishment, but where we had our best meal so far in Vietnam last night at a small restaurant stall called Phuong Nam. The shrimp spring rolls and the fresh squid were amazing. Wash it down with a little Festival Beer and it's heaven.

Early in the morning, we headed up to our free buffet breakfast on the hotel's eighth floor. We weren't sure what we were walking into, as we've never had the Vietnamese continental breakfast before. However, it turned out to be an excellent variety of delights offering both the western continental breakfast, and better yet a wide variety of Vietnamese dishes such as steamed noodles with shrimp and veggies, banh (a translucent Vietnamese dumpling with shrimp inside), steamed mustard greens with garlic, and of course, Pho. There was also a great spread of fruits unlike any we've seen or could get at home to include dragon fruit, lychee, and other delicious unidentifiables.

After gorging on the great (free) breakfast and enjoying the view, we again crossed the perfume river with an ambitious day planned. We wanted to see the entire Imperial Enclosure with its pagodas and forbidden Purple City, as well as the Dong Ba market. Passing the Workers Party Serenity Pavilion, we stopped to admire the rusting park of ironically-placed South Vietnamese military vehicles (serenity indeed) captured in the final 1975 NVA offensive. Most of the tanks and armored vehicles had been provided by the US. The signage was far from neutral, boasting that one tank had been “Provided by the US to the puppet government to raid and terrorize the people. Captured by the Liberation Army and the people of Vietnam.”

Serenity Palace

A few blocks later, strolling the imposing moat surrounding the Imperial City’s massive brick walls, we entered the ceremonial gate of the Imperial Enclosure and paid the 55K dong to view its partially restored ruins. Though much of Hue was demolished by French and US bombs in the successive wars for Vietnamese independence, some magnificent buildings were miraculously spared or have been restored to their former glory in past two decades.
We will not even try to describe the beautiful architecture, as we could not possibly do it justice, but we will attach a few pictures of the faded majesty of Vietnam’s Imperial glory. Much to our astonishment, the Imperial enclosure was almost devoid of people. As we listened to the bustling motorbike and foot traffic cascading over the Imperial City’s walls, the juxtaposed serenity of the pagoda gardens and royal residences amazed us.

After several hours peacefully strolling, we left the Imperial City through the same Imposing gate, and headed down the modern riverside boulevard to the Dong Ba market. Like every market in Vietnam (and, for the most part, the entire developing world), Dong Ba was a wild cacophony of people, goods, raised voices, extreme smells, and forests of arms reaching to show off fine goods or pawing to lead you to shops further in the labyrinth of the market.
The market was comprised of a soviet-style concrete building (easily identified from the opposite bank of the river by the enormous COOP sign right next door) with two stories of manufactured goods (silks, handbags, toys, shoes, dried spices, tools, and tin items). Outside the building, along the waterfront, were rows of tarp-covered food stands, selling all manner of fresh fruits, meats, seafood, and vegetables, along with prepared foods from every region of Vietnam. While certainly “organic,” the smell of rotting, discarded fish skeletons, cabbage leaves, corn husks, and fruit skins left a pungent odor in the air. Maybe this is why they call it the Perfume River, as most of this refuse ended up in the water.

Implored by a seller who spoke excellent English, likely as a result of his sister in Seattle, Katie was persuaded to take a peek at his raw silk goods. After vainly trying to convince Adam to try on some “real LaCoste” polos, Katie, in an Oscar-worthy performance, countered the seller’s entreaties about the weakness of the Vietnamese economy in the off-season with a sob story about the universal truth of newlyweds having little money and needing to save. While she may not have gotten the Vietnamese price, she did walk away with two scarves for significantly less than the original asking price of one. For Katie, market shopping is more about the game of haggling, the actual purchases are a nice bonus. The Vietnamese didn’t know what hit them.

After an hour or so fighting off various vendors, we decided to snag another round of Festival at DMZ bar and grab a late lunch at our new favorite restaurant, Phuong Nam. We had another order of the dynamite pork spring rolls, a seafood salad made of fresh squid, mango and shrimp, and shrimp with crispy noodles. This meal was as good as the first, and was made all the more pleasant by a conversation with a business partner of the owner’s. He was a pleasant young father, who spoke excellent English, and was excited to hear about our trip thus far in Vietnam. He told us about his family and some background of the restaurant (that they are the one place in Hue that didn’t raise prices after getting a good review in Lonely Planet. This was evidenced by our $5 multi-course meal, including several beers). He offered friendly tips about the city and great places elsewhere in the country. He asked us about home and our families and what it is like to see and feel snow. And, refreshingly, as a side note rather than a hard sell, he told us that he and his partner operated a motorcycle tour group called Hue Riders that ferries tourists to sites around the DMZ, in the central highlands, and all over the country by request. We would have taken him up on a trip without a second’s hesitation, but we had already booked our lodging and bus to Hoi An.

The jet lag finally came back to bite us, as we crashed early that night, despite our plans to hit the discotheque in the hotel and various other piano bars… seriously, Don Ho lookalikes (intentional lookalikes, we’re not just being racist) singing the hits of the 70s? What’s not to like? But unfortunately, we crapped out. We woke up 17 hours later, feeling refreshed, but not knowing what hit us. We enjoyed the hotel restaurant once again (awesome breakfast Pho) and took a few photos from the roof deck before boarding our “Open Bus,” read “Ridiculous Tourist Trap Bus” for Hoi An, by way of Da Nang.

Leavin On A Midnight Train

This morning finds us in Hue, Vietnam's historical capital about 600 miles south of Hanoi and once again online. Yesterday afternoon, we decided to go a little touristy on our last day in Hanoi and finally succumb to the repeated solicitations of our friend Ting to take us on a "cyclo" (what is mostly known around the world as a rickshaw) tour.

Our first stop was the historic Hoa Lo prison (known to most Americans as the Hanoi Hilton), where downed American pilots, including John McCain, were held for the duration of the war. It was pretty surreal to see this part of well known American history from the enemy perspective. Since this is a big tourist attraction, the government has filled it with propaganda shots of pilots laughing, drinking beers, playing volleyball and eating Christmas dinner, all the while assuring us is wasn't so bad to be an American inmate. While undoubtedly tainted by our perspective, we were surprised at the very limited exhibits on the American-Vietnam war. By constrast, the museum primarily depicts the gruesome conditions in which Vietnamese prisoners lived under French rule, giving particular attention to the political prisoners of the early communist revolution (1900-1939) in Vietnam. As most of these patriotic exhibits were only in Vietnamese, we headed out to meet Ting (dutifully waiting as he charged by the hour) to take us to our next destination.

Meandering through the modern business district of Hanoi, we arrived at a very distinct and ancient complex, the Temple of Literature. I know, the name makes it sound like some ill-fated literacy campaign from elementary school, but the temple was actually Vietnam's first university, built in 1076. Inside the walls were beautiful gardens and pools, various pagodas, and dozens of turtle-shaped stellae dedicated to each mandarin who received a doctorate from the university.... oh and of course, the gift shop located in a 16th century terra cotta roofed pagoda (at least its not the Starbucks in Beijing's Forbidden City, I guess).

Ting then ignored our requests to end our tour, and insisted he take us to a great lunch spot. Intrigued by the prospect of what was promised to be a locals-only meal, we caved. To the contrary, we arrived at Indochine, a hang out for French expats. But to Ting's credit, it was fantastic.

Ting then finally relented, and took us back to the hotel (circuitously through the French Quarter) so that we could pick up our train tickets and luggage. We dragged our feet leaving the swanky hotel, loitering among several Chinese business people at the bar, where we collected our thoughts on the days to come and braced for the overnight train adventure we were about to embark upon.

We headed to the station early (totally unneccessary. This is Asia, everything turns into a churning mass of pushing). As we saw our fellow passengers, we wondered, half amused/half nervously, which two might be in our sleeper car. After paying 50,000VND under coercion by uniformed men to have our luggage carried for us on a cart, we were at least gratified that the man in fatigues and red arm bands DID cut to the front of the line on our behalf pushing and swatting old ladies and children to show us our berth.

There we anxiously awaited our berthmates, hoping it wouldn't be the pee-smelling woman from the terminal, or a swine-flu victim. Foolishly, we entertained the thought that we may be the only ones in our cabin. A few minutes later, in walked a well-groomed Da Nang native with a well-appointed suitcase (sigh of relief), his valet carrying three gigantic plastic tarps full of unknown goods (negates sigh of relief). He grinned at us from above his patriotic t-shirt(American patriotic, that is....eagles, and stars and stripes) and began both exitedly/forcibly chatting us up.

After handing out sesame candies, reading Adam's book over his shoulder and asking reading comprehension questions (a great ordeal for Katie to watch) and telling us about the Vietnamese train engine business, his brother in Nebraska and a little about his country, our friend suddenly decided he was finished with us and abruptly nodded off. Adam and I checked our watches...there was still well over 12 hours left on the journey. Katie then quickly followed suit nodding off on Adam as he read in the already tiny bunk.

Despite these small quarters the gentle rocking and rhythmic clacking put us right to sleep...for the first five hours. It wasn't until Adam awoke to use the bathroom ( NOT recommended to come late to the party with a shared bathroom on an overnight train...in a third world country) that things took an usual turn. Upon opening the door, Adam encountered two young female train workers about to knock. Through a series of unintelligable statements and unsucessful pantomimes from all parties involved, one of the women finally just angrily pushed past Adam into our cabin. and climbed into the empty top bunk. Adam shrugged and headed to the bathroom. The second worker followed suit, not into Katie's unoccupied top bunk but also into the one with her coworker. When Adam returned to the cabin he did not at first realize the total number of adults in a 6.5 ft x 6.5 ft cabin had ballooned to five.

The remainder of the night's sleep was fitful and puncutated by the sounds of a possibly tuberculotic man violently hacking, snorting and spitting somewhere in our train car. Undoubtedly not helping his state, he was sure to take every opportunity to get off the train and smoke at each of its stops. Adam and Katie whispered to each other in the darkness and proclaimed to a higher power that they would happily take an additional two (or maybe even three) clean, quiet cabinmates in their already over croweded car, so long as to avoid all close contact with that man (and others like him).

At morning's first light we both awoke to excitedly take in our first glimpses of the Vietnamese countryside: rice paddies, red clay, sampans and all. We arrived in Hue 15 hr and 30 minutes later, 600 miles south (and below the DMZ) at 0800 this morning. This overnight train ride was the adventure we hoped (and thankfully not the one we feared). Exhausted but excited to see this new city we checked into the Camellia Hotel Hue.

Hanoi Update: Opera and Dinner

Around 7:30 last night, we ambled next door for the Vietnam National Symphony Orchestra's performance of several works by Norwegian and Vietnamese composers and the Sibelius 5th Symphony. The space was a beautiful, if underloved, neo-classical concert hall with gold leaf and red velvet to be found everywhere. The hallways were impressively laid with marble and seemed to echo ages past when the opera was still a central event in the lives of Hanoi's French Colonial elite.

The program drew a meager crowd, filling only about 1/3-1/2 of the hall. The audience was an interesting mix of Vietnamese and Western expat season ticket holders, tourists, and locals simply popping in the for show.

The music wasn't bad, but the highlight of the event was sneaking into an antechamber off the upstairs lobby, which led to the main outdoor balcony from which the Vietminh declared independence in 1945. We did our best Uncle Ho impressions as we waved to the indifferent motorbikers zipping by in the street below.

After the performance, we headed to Club Opera, an upscale classical Vietnamese restaurant, for dinner. The food was outstanding, and the patio table was great for people watching as old men took advantage of the cool evening to play checkers, and a few businesswomen popped in for desert after work.

Sadly, our 5-star living is quickly drawing to a close, as we set our sights on landing an overnight train for Hue, the ancient Imperial capital of Vietnam. But we're excited for the adventure and crossing the DMZ! Might be radio silent for a day or two.

KT & AC

Hanoi: The Old Quarter

Day 3 – Hanoi

Despite a rough time falling asleep last night (since it was 1 PM EST) we got up and out early this morning to explore. Our target was the Old Quarter and the various ancient trade markets therein. We had our route planned out and we left the quiet and peaceful Hilton Opera to immediately step out onto the chaotic Hanoi street scene. It was an overcast morning and we packed appropriate monsoon gear just in case. We were instantly accosted by a rickshaw driver that aggressively tried to lure us in. We turned him down but he persisted for another block, and then finally gave up, but offered us a friendly hand-shake and promised to help us enjoy Hanoi anyway (specifically to take us to John McCain’s cell in the Hanoi Hilton). He was only the first of many vendors we’d fend off in the first few moments on the street. Immediately adjacent to the hotel is the beautiful Opera house, or as it is officially known, the Municiple Theatre of Hanoi (how communist of them:). In the sun it was as beautiful as its silhouette suggested in the dark late last night. In front of the Opera house it was absolutely necessary for us to cross our first Hanoi street, something we avoided for the first few blocks. We decided to take this leap at one of the busiest Hanoi interections. Amid the oncoming (and going) torrent of cars, motorbikes, buses, bicycles and scooters, and holding hands tightly, we counted down from three at least five times before a Hail Mary finally gave us the nerve to step off the curb. We decided to use two locals as lead blockers (and to emulate their proper form) we followed closely (and I mean, closely) on their heels. Standing line abreast as we traversed the avenue while everything with wheels honked furiously while careening out of our way at full speed. With this experience, and the many that followed, our first day in country can be considered a huge success, if for no other reason we have perfected this death-defying stunt. (*For you skeptical world travelers out there who will list other cities as being equally crazy-- Rome, Beijing, etc. -- Katie remarked after our third street crossing, that Cairo was a piece of cake compared to this.)

After passing a few magnificent French colonial hotels and some monolitihic communist constructions, we found our way to Hoan Kiem Lake. With its 15th century pagodas and temples, if you could turn your brian off to the throbbing traffic on the street, it was a beautiful and tranquil site to be seen. We smiled to ourselves as we watched several newly-wed (or soon to be) couples arrive to take lake-side photos dressed to the nines in exquisitely ornate wedding gowns and three piece suits. Ngoc Son Temple sits atop an island on the northern side of Hoan Kiem Lake. There, we watched tourists and locals alike visit. Tourists snapped photos while locals bought insence and climbed a steep rocky mound to pay their respects to ancestors with their small smoldering gifts. We left this serene locale (although still full of pushy ladies hawking tour books and postcards) for the frenetic and noisy alleyways of the Old Quarter Shoe Market. The marketplaces of the Old Quarter are divided by the type of good and each street is named for the trade that inhabits it. First, the Shoe Market - There we window shopped through blocks upon blocks of street side stands and storefronts housing every known type of adornment for one's tootsies. We were particularly intriguied by the “brand name” options. The Shoe Market led us through, respectively, the fish market, fruit/veggie market, garment market, tin market, blacksmith/tin market, Buddha market, spice markets and silk markets. Each of which was a world unto its own. We enjoyed unknown streetfood for breakfast, currently without incident– some sort of scalding hot bun with minced porked wrapped in egg (Vietnamese version of the Dukin Donuts breakfast sandwhiches?)
In the garment district we ran into a shoe store that was packed with Western women. The owners apparently have concluded that a shoe store among streets and streets of shoe stores may be at a competitive disadvantage. This concept, however, led us to inspect neighboring stands. The garment district and tin district allowed the layman western observer to see slight differences (example: Nike only knock off stand next to an Adidas only knock off stand next to a Fila, and so on and so on…)

We then came upon a Buddhist alter and statuary market. There sellers promoted wooden statues, all manner of brass lamps, candle holders and signet calligraphy stamps. Through the Buddhist market where the silks. Four blocks of dresses, scarves, suits and ties with tailors laying in wait for a passer by to slow down enough to be enveloped in measuring tape, pins, and a team of seamstresses. Katie grinned and knowingly slowed down and was promptly fitted for a dragon adorned, high-collared, Asian-style dress, hand tailored to her exact peculiarities. The final product will be hers at a song in less than 24 hours.

Briefly stopping at the beautiful Neo-Gothic Saint Joseph’s Cathedral, we turned a corner to have lunch and rest a few minutes. Hanoi beer, extra large tiger prawns, and soft spring rolls hit the spot and fueled our final wanderings. On our way back to the hotel we bought tickets for tonight’s Classical Symphnony Concert: the Sibelius 5th Symphony and some Vietnamese favorites.

Finally, we ran into our “old friend,” or, by his given name, Ting, the rickshaw driver from hours earlier. Politely inquiring how our first day in Hanoi was, he once again reminded us that he could take us on a great tour of assorted tourist landmarks and “knew a guy” who could fit us for suits or kimonos. For a shockingly low hourly price, Ting will be our chauffer and friend tomorrow, all morning as we pick up our custom purchases.

So now, we’re rested a bit and getting ready for the symphony, dinner, and whatever Hanoi nightlife we can handle before jetlag demands that we return to the hotel. More to come (pictures soon) …

-Katie & Adam


PS- For those interested, today the Vietnamese Dong is trading at 17, 847 VND to 1 USD (not an ideal number for quick conversion and street haggling)

The Hanoi Hilton

After 31 hours of travel by airplane and taxi, over thousands of miles, an ocean, two seas, international datelines, and (surprisingly) the Russian arctic, we've finally arrived in Hanoi's Noi Bai Airport at around midnight.

The 15 hours from Dulles to Seoul were presided over by very attentive Korean Air flight attendants, and featured an endless selection of video entertainment. Our seatmate, a Filippino bound for Manilla, was pleasant company, chatting about how we reminded her of her daughter with regard to travel, age, school, and her upcoming wedding.

The Seoul/Incheon airport was exceedingly convenient (as Korean Air will be sure to tell its passengers with a multimedia presentation during landing). It was great to not have to pass Korean customs or re-check our bags. Totally hastle-free and time saver. This allowed us to enjoy the terminal, a veritable Tysons Galleria with an airstrip attached. I have never seen a shopping center with four different Gucci boutiques. We used our two hour layover to hunt down some Korean fast food. The noodles with hot Kimchee were a lifesaver after the less-than-appetizing meal options on the airplane. Key takeaways: Incheon Int'l Airport is extremely convenient and a great stopover when connecting through Asia, and Seoul (at least at this time of year) is 13 hours ahead of the East Coast.

We landed in Hanoi and luxuriated in the communist "efficiency" at the baggage claim for what seemed like hours, while crushed, duct taped boxes of what may have been formerly live animals or Cambodian immigrants continued to circulate on the belt. With the hassle of the simple tasks like collecting one's luggage, we braced for a customs nightmare. We were relieved(?) when we passed through the line with barely a glance at our American passports by the 14-year-old "officer." Per the research we did prior to travelling, we opted to bypass the "taxicab mafia" who would be sure to drive us to a sham hotel in order to extort, rob, or otherwise take advantage of us. Instead, we met a very friendly and helpful information desk girl who called us a legit cab, gave us free maps, and her cell phone number (in case we needed anything else)--our first taste of the world famous Vietnamese hospitality. Even though the cab ride was in the dark, we still excitedly squeezed hands in the cab while exclaiming, "honeymoon!/can you believe we're in Vietnam?" We also tried to squint out the windows at the darkness to pick out the french colonial buildings, concrete and rebar residences, and brand new high rise construction projects as we wound through the warrens of Old Hanoi.

For the next couple nights, we are staying in the 5 Star Hilton Hanoi Opera Hotel located directly in the Old Quarter and with a great next-door view of the French Colonial Hanoi Opera House (can't wait to post pictures of the opera house when it's not dark out). We opened the door to a beautiful sweet and a honeymoon gift from the hotel: a bottle of bubbly on ice and roses around the room.


Anyway, while it may not seem to exciting yet for those at home, we cannot wait for the prospects of adventures, great food, and agressive haggling to come. More soon.

Katie and Adam