Non Nuoc, Vietnam - The almost communal style of living here at Hoa's is a great change from everyday life on the road as a backpacker.
Instead of cliquey couples and groups staring at eachother from their tables in cafes and restaurants, we eat and swap stories at one big table in the guesthouse's downstairs cafe.
In the evening the fluro lights go off and Hoa puts out the candles and then an absolute banquet of food. Backpackers from other hotels and guesthouses in the area drop by for this dinner, it's that good. The conversation is great too.
So it came as somewhat as a shock one evening about an hour before dinner when two taxis pulled up outside and disgorged eight shaven-headed lads and their backpacks. Hoa welcomed them inside and warned them that the electricty was had gone off temprorarily, but there were rooms for them if they wanted to stay.
Immediately the group started to demand a discount, speaking to Hoa like a roadside hawker. Abruptly one decided "lets just see the rooms then, yeah?" and off they went into the guesthouse towering over Hoa.
Dave, who has so far spent six weeks here and only briefly left for a few days to do a visa run to Laos, turned to me: "I hope they don't stay here," he said in his French Canadian accent. I nodded.
But they did end up staying. Their arrival had got a few backs up among the other guests and so dinner was eaten split into two groups, us and them. I wondered what it was like to travel in such a big pack? Vietnam has been relatively quiet in the tourist areas and bars and the arrival of eight blokes would surely change the vibe of any place they decided to descend upon. Were they able to meet new people? Could anyone tell them apart?
The next day four of their number left and the rest spent the arvo on the beach surfing. Hoa's is relatively unique in this country in that he actually has boards for rent. Vietnam has miles of potentially surfable coastline, but I doubt there are more than half a dozen places you can rent a surfboard.
The three beaten up boards at the guesthouse are in hot demand and its usually a first come first served proposition in the mornings. I tended to get out there on sunrise and have the board back for the 7:30am shift. Somehow, everyone got a go throughout the day.
But when I arrived that night at the cafe for a beer before dinner, I noticed the boards missing. I asked, as innocently as I could, where they might have been.
"Oh, we stole them," one of the blokes said proudly, with a big smile. "We put them in our rooms so we can surf tomorrow."
With the swell many of us had waited a week for due the next day, it was an unbelievable stunt to pull.
Particularly by a group who had been there less than 24 hours. It did, however, spur me into action to organise a proper shortboard for the next day's waves. I slunk off into the night with Jacq on our moto to rent aboard from Gunnar and his wife Thom, who lived up the highway.
Gunnar, a German expat, was in Hanoi but his family welcomed us in and I chose a fibreglass shortboard from among four boards for rent.
The only trick after that was to get it home. Gunnar's was about two or three kays from the guesthouse, down a dark and very sandy dirt track. Somehow, with Jacq on the back holding the board on the side of the moto with one hand and a torch over my head with the other, we got it home.
Instead of cliquey couples and groups staring at eachother from their tables in cafes and restaurants, we eat and swap stories at one big table in the guesthouse's downstairs cafe.
In the evening the fluro lights go off and Hoa puts out the candles and then an absolute banquet of food. Backpackers from other hotels and guesthouses in the area drop by for this dinner, it's that good. The conversation is great too.
So it came as somewhat as a shock one evening about an hour before dinner when two taxis pulled up outside and disgorged eight shaven-headed lads and their backpacks. Hoa welcomed them inside and warned them that the electricty was had gone off temprorarily, but there were rooms for them if they wanted to stay.
Immediately the group started to demand a discount, speaking to Hoa like a roadside hawker. Abruptly one decided "lets just see the rooms then, yeah?" and off they went into the guesthouse towering over Hoa.
Dave, who has so far spent six weeks here and only briefly left for a few days to do a visa run to Laos, turned to me: "I hope they don't stay here," he said in his French Canadian accent. I nodded.
But they did end up staying. Their arrival had got a few backs up among the other guests and so dinner was eaten split into two groups, us and them. I wondered what it was like to travel in such a big pack? Vietnam has been relatively quiet in the tourist areas and bars and the arrival of eight blokes would surely change the vibe of any place they decided to descend upon. Were they able to meet new people? Could anyone tell them apart?
The next day four of their number left and the rest spent the arvo on the beach surfing. Hoa's is relatively unique in this country in that he actually has boards for rent. Vietnam has miles of potentially surfable coastline, but I doubt there are more than half a dozen places you can rent a surfboard.
The three beaten up boards at the guesthouse are in hot demand and its usually a first come first served proposition in the mornings. I tended to get out there on sunrise and have the board back for the 7:30am shift. Somehow, everyone got a go throughout the day.
But when I arrived that night at the cafe for a beer before dinner, I noticed the boards missing. I asked, as innocently as I could, where they might have been.
"Oh, we stole them," one of the blokes said proudly, with a big smile. "We put them in our rooms so we can surf tomorrow."
With the swell many of us had waited a week for due the next day, it was an unbelievable stunt to pull.
Particularly by a group who had been there less than 24 hours. It did, however, spur me into action to organise a proper shortboard for the next day's waves. I slunk off into the night with Jacq on our moto to rent aboard from Gunnar and his wife Thom, who lived up the highway.
Gunnar, a German expat, was in Hanoi but his family welcomed us in and I chose a fibreglass shortboard from among four boards for rent.
The only trick after that was to get it home. Gunnar's was about two or three kays from the guesthouse, down a dark and very sandy dirt track. Somehow, with Jacq on the back holding the board on the side of the moto with one hand and a torch over my head with the other, we got it home.
Labels: Vietnam
Backpackers scatter as I ride the plank through the shorebreakNon Nuoc, Vietnam - While this jaunt through South East Asia was supposed to be about the people, the culture and learning more about myself, the chance to to have a surf - as usual - has overtaken all else.
With a rumoured typhoon swell heading towards Vietnam, Jacq and I have moved north from Hoi An to Non Nuoc Beach. We're staying at a little guesthouse right on the beach. There are boards available for rent (a rarity in this non-surfing nation), the beer is the coldest I"ve tasted in Vietnam and the owner is a great host.
As I mentioned in the previous post, Hoa is internationally-renowned among backpackers travelling through Vietnam. He makes friends instantly with new arrivals, runs his guesthouse on an honor system and is an all round top bloke.
At the moment the guests here are a mixed bunch of Euros and two Aussie couples, most of whom have dropped by for a surf on their way up or down the coast. With the waves currently quite small, we're all currently taking it in shifts to head across to the internet cafe and check the latest swell predictions.
When we arrived yesterday (Tuesday), Wednesday was supposed to be the big day for surf. It was then shifted to Saturday. The latest info now puts Thursday as being the biggest.
Only time will tell I suppose.
With a rumoured typhoon swell heading towards Vietnam, Jacq and I have moved north from Hoi An to Non Nuoc Beach. We're staying at a little guesthouse right on the beach. There are boards available for rent (a rarity in this non-surfing nation), the beer is the coldest I"ve tasted in Vietnam and the owner is a great host.
As I mentioned in the previous post, Hoa is internationally-renowned among backpackers travelling through Vietnam. He makes friends instantly with new arrivals, runs his guesthouse on an honor system and is an all round top bloke.
At the moment the guests here are a mixed bunch of Euros and two Aussie couples, most of whom have dropped by for a surf on their way up or down the coast. With the waves currently quite small, we're all currently taking it in shifts to head across to the internet cafe and check the latest swell predictions.
When we arrived yesterday (Tuesday), Wednesday was supposed to be the big day for surf. It was then shifted to Saturday. The latest info now puts Thursday as being the biggest.
Only time will tell I suppose.
Hoi An boatman
Lanterns
Incense drying on the road outside Hoi An
Jacq, on the road to Monkey Mountain
Prime pasture, beach near Danang
Beach near DanangHoi An, Vietnam - The sour-sweet smell of fish sauce in the villages on the beaches near Danang. Shrimp dyring on the roadside. The lush forest of Monkey Mountain. Incense sticks lying in the sun beside a road through the paddie fields. This is Vietnam
Labels: Vietnam
Rivefront, Hoi AnHoi An, Vietnam - Morning
With the days relatively short in Vietnam's late Autumn, we try to wake at 6am to make the most of the clear, blue skies we've been enjoying in this supposed wet season.
Jacq has gotten back into jogging and usually runs first thing through the paddie fields before it gets too hot. I also get up early, but only because my new favourite breakfast is only served until about 7:30am most days.
About 3kms down the road through the paddie fields towards the beach, a little streetside stall sells bun my. It's a toasted baguette filled with cucumber, salad greens, roast chicken (I think) topped with an oily satay sauce, chopped peanuts and chilli. Absolutely delicious and just 4000VND each (I usually eat two).
Jacq and I then meet back at our hotel, pack a daypack, my camera and a bottle of water onto the scooter and head out to the beach. Cui Dai is the popular tourist beach in Hoi An which we sometimes go to if we want to sit in the shade on the sun lounges and read in between swims and throwing the frisbee.
But lately we've tired of the hawkers and the guilt trip put on us by the boy who controls the lounges. He is always onto us to buy, buy, buy to pay for our position under the umbrella and the parking spot at his family's cafe. Instead we've been parking the moto in a village up the road and walking down to the deserted beach. Just us and a couple of Vietnamese round fishing boats.
If the surf is up then we might go for a quick blast up the new highway to Non Nuoc Beach, calling in at Hoa's Place to rent a board and juice up on coffee. Hoa is somewhat of a legend on the backpacking circuit, speaking very good English with a curious Irish-American accent.
Travellers stay at his slightly ramshackle guesthouse to chill out by the beach in between journeys through Vietnam's hectic cities, or to surf, or to just talk shit and play cards with Hoa.
Lunch
Back at our hotel at midday, its another quick regroup before again going out on the moto, this time in search of lunch. With our base a five minute scooter ride from town, we find we're constantly back and forth for food, change of clothes or to sleep. But the hotel is cheap, it's in a quiet street and it's halfway to the beach.
Lunch for me is usually a plate of fried rice and spring rolls. With a drink we're talking 40,000VND (AUD$3.5) tops.
While the weather in Hoi An right now has been great, a maximum of 27C in the middle of the day still feels quite hot, especially with the humidity. So the arvo is spent internetting, as we have come to call it, or reading back at the hotel or occasionally sleeping.
With sunset at 5pm, we try and get going biy mid-afternoon for one last grab of light. Sometimes it'll be a swim and beers on the beach at Cui Dai. I might buy a packet of dou phuong from a hawker to go with my Biere Larue.
Other times its a repeat journey into town. The golden afternoon light is amazing for photographing the Old Town area and after parking the moto by the river Jacq and I might spend a couple of hours shooting and sketching the area.
Evening
Treat's Cafe (one of the three or four in this town with the name), three streets back from the river, serves the cheapest Biere Larue in town (5,000VND) and offers free pool, so we often stop by for a pre-dinner drink.
Then it's off down to the river to check out the menus and grab a table outside. One cafe in particular does a rip roaring barbecue with chips and salad for 50,000VND. If that sounds a little Westernised, it is, but it is hard to get good local food at cafes serving Westerners. The locals tend to eat back in the middle of town in large halls or sheds under fluro lights, and I'm happy to pay a little more for the view and a relaxing meal. Perhaps Hoi An has made me soft?
By 9pm we're usually pooped. Full of food and beer and probably having spent too much time on the moto and in the sun, I'm happy to drift off to sleep.
With the days relatively short in Vietnam's late Autumn, we try to wake at 6am to make the most of the clear, blue skies we've been enjoying in this supposed wet season.
Jacq has gotten back into jogging and usually runs first thing through the paddie fields before it gets too hot. I also get up early, but only because my new favourite breakfast is only served until about 7:30am most days.
About 3kms down the road through the paddie fields towards the beach, a little streetside stall sells bun my. It's a toasted baguette filled with cucumber, salad greens, roast chicken (I think) topped with an oily satay sauce, chopped peanuts and chilli. Absolutely delicious and just 4000VND each (I usually eat two).
Jacq and I then meet back at our hotel, pack a daypack, my camera and a bottle of water onto the scooter and head out to the beach. Cui Dai is the popular tourist beach in Hoi An which we sometimes go to if we want to sit in the shade on the sun lounges and read in between swims and throwing the frisbee.
But lately we've tired of the hawkers and the guilt trip put on us by the boy who controls the lounges. He is always onto us to buy, buy, buy to pay for our position under the umbrella and the parking spot at his family's cafe. Instead we've been parking the moto in a village up the road and walking down to the deserted beach. Just us and a couple of Vietnamese round fishing boats.
If the surf is up then we might go for a quick blast up the new highway to Non Nuoc Beach, calling in at Hoa's Place to rent a board and juice up on coffee. Hoa is somewhat of a legend on the backpacking circuit, speaking very good English with a curious Irish-American accent.
Travellers stay at his slightly ramshackle guesthouse to chill out by the beach in between journeys through Vietnam's hectic cities, or to surf, or to just talk shit and play cards with Hoa.
LunchBack at our hotel at midday, its another quick regroup before again going out on the moto, this time in search of lunch. With our base a five minute scooter ride from town, we find we're constantly back and forth for food, change of clothes or to sleep. But the hotel is cheap, it's in a quiet street and it's halfway to the beach.
Lunch for me is usually a plate of fried rice and spring rolls. With a drink we're talking 40,000VND (AUD$3.5) tops.
While the weather in Hoi An right now has been great, a maximum of 27C in the middle of the day still feels quite hot, especially with the humidity. So the arvo is spent internetting, as we have come to call it, or reading back at the hotel or occasionally sleeping.
With sunset at 5pm, we try and get going biy mid-afternoon for one last grab of light. Sometimes it'll be a swim and beers on the beach at Cui Dai. I might buy a packet of dou phuong from a hawker to go with my Biere Larue.
Other times its a repeat journey into town. The golden afternoon light is amazing for photographing the Old Town area and after parking the moto by the river Jacq and I might spend a couple of hours shooting and sketching the area.
Evening
Treat's Cafe (one of the three or four in this town with the name), three streets back from the river, serves the cheapest Biere Larue in town (5,000VND) and offers free pool, so we often stop by for a pre-dinner drink.
Then it's off down to the river to check out the menus and grab a table outside. One cafe in particular does a rip roaring barbecue with chips and salad for 50,000VND. If that sounds a little Westernised, it is, but it is hard to get good local food at cafes serving Westerners. The locals tend to eat back in the middle of town in large halls or sheds under fluro lights, and I'm happy to pay a little more for the view and a relaxing meal. Perhaps Hoi An has made me soft?By 9pm we're usually pooped. Full of food and beer and probably having spent too much time on the moto and in the sun, I'm happy to drift off to sleep.
Labels: Vietnam
Afternoon siesta, Hoi AnEating, sleeping, washing and business are all carried out outside of the home and in full view of neighbours and traffic. And that's the way they seem to prefer it.
Not for the Cambodians or Vietnamese is it to lock themselves away in suburbs and cars and to divide public from private with fences, curtains or even gated roads.
Perhaps the most eye-opening activity we saw was in Saigon. A lady held up her infant son over the gutter to allow him to urinate just as we passed by in our air conditioned tour bus. After that, no much has fazed us.
In Cambodia a plastic chair was used as a shower stall of sorts. A mother positioned her naked young son on top and soaped him down, before giving him a rinse off. An ingenious use of a plastic chair, I thought, with the slots on the bottom of the seat allowing the suds to drain away as well as it keeping her son elevated above the ever-present red dust in that country.
The street is also for eating and drinking. Some of my favourite moments have come perched on a tiny plastic chair drinking fresh, ice cold beer at a bia hoi stand, just centimetres from the passing scooter traffic.
In Dalat in the Vietnamese Central Highlands, breakfast was a steaming bowl of pho bo and a baguette, eaten at a small metal table in a side street among the parked motos.
Here in Hoi An, owning a house or apartment on a moderately busy street is a license to open your home for business. Vendors sell snacks and soft drinks from glass display cases. Clothes, shoes, alcohol and pirate CDs are sold out of the living room.
The hardest part to get used to is the feeling of intruding in someone's home. At a lot of the riverfront restaurants in Hoi An, going to the bathroom is an unexpected tour through a family's kitchen, bedroom or living room. It's not uncommon to see their toothbrushes lined up on the shelf.
On this trip through Asia, I've been consciously and subconsciously storing away in my mind the best parts of the various cultures. Engaging with neighbours, watching over the children from other families playing in the street and refusing to turn over everything beyond the front door to the almighty car are some of the highlights of South East Asian living.
It makes a stark comparison to a suburb next door to my old home on the Gold Coast, Australia. Often I would drive through its main road, lined with comfortable family homes and nice gardens, and not see a single person. There were plenty of cars, either parked on driveways or cruising down the road, but hardly anyone walking, cycling or talking.
The front of their homes were designed to make some sort of statement to the street: large entrances; grand windows; manicured gardens. But despite all this, there was little actual room to sit or play.
Cham Island bay, off the coast of Hoi An
Cham Island, Vietnam - With the days starting to blur together into a montage of mornings at the beach, afternoons in Old Town and evenings drinking cheap Larues at Treat's, Jacq and I decided to get busy with some of the tours available in Hoi An.
Cooking school was the first. And then today we took day trip out to Cham Island, about 20kms off the coast of Hoi An and home to the Cham people, who as our guide An explained, had inhabited the central coast of Vietnam since the second century.
Our vessel was a weathered, old wooden boat but its relaxed pace on the calm ocean was fitting for a trip to the island.
In a group of six tourists and with two guides (yes, two, over staffing is rife in Vietnam) we explored the local village and took photos of pretty much everything.
I often feel a little rude or conspicuous as a Westerner walking through someone's village in a tour group. I wonder if the people feel like exhibits to be marvelled at or photographed. But I must admit it's also a good opportunity to take photos of people in a way I normally wouldn't. With a Frenchman in our group not adverse to simply wandering up to people, taking a photo from three feet away and walking off, I was able to hang in the background and shoot a few candid frames without being noticed.
Midday saw us anchored out of the wind in a protected corner of a bay for a spot of snorkelling. The shallow ocean floor was littered with sea urchins and I was quite taken with their bright neon colours in amongst the sharp black spines. The snorkelling, although prbably not on par with The Great Barrier Reef or Thailand, was the most impressive I had done and I spent about 45 minutes exploring among the coral.
One of our Vietnamese guides donned a lifejacket and jumped in to keep on eye on us. In true Vietnamses fashion he got quite nervous about his charges swimming in the ocean, and did his best to keep us near the boat.
At one stage he swam out to the end of the bay where Jacq, the Frenchman and myself were snorkelling. He told us not to swim so far away. To placate him we swam back against the strong current to the boat but I was a bit concerned about the guide, who tried to doggy paddle against the drift with his bulky jacket on. At one stage I thought I'd have to rescue him, but he eventually made it back.
On the journey back to the mainland, Jacq and I got talking to a couple about our age from Tasmania. They had spent the past two months cycling in Vietnam and Laos. They were full of stories about being scammed by the Vietnamese. It seemed that the locals knew when they had you over a barrel and weren't afraid to exploit it. He told of arriving in a town with just one guesthouse and paying 200,000 dong (about twice the price for a nice air conditioned room in a mini-hotel) for a room with a broken fan, no lock on the door and a nightmare of a toilet down the hall. When he tried to bargain the landlady simply walked away. He had to practically chase after her with the money.
In contrast, our experiences have been mostly in towns that have already been trail blazed by backpackers. Accomodation and eating options are numerous and the competition seems to keep the prices down. As we said our goodbyes I was thankful that I had a mostly positive view of Vietnam, although I'm beginning to get curious about Laos, a place the Tasmanians raved about and many other travellers have given the thumbs up to.
Cooking school was the first. And then today we took day trip out to Cham Island, about 20kms off the coast of Hoi An and home to the Cham people, who as our guide An explained, had inhabited the central coast of Vietnam since the second century.
Our vessel was a weathered, old wooden boat but its relaxed pace on the calm ocean was fitting for a trip to the island.
In a group of six tourists and with two guides (yes, two, over staffing is rife in Vietnam) we explored the local village and took photos of pretty much everything.
I often feel a little rude or conspicuous as a Westerner walking through someone's village in a tour group. I wonder if the people feel like exhibits to be marvelled at or photographed. But I must admit it's also a good opportunity to take photos of people in a way I normally wouldn't. With a Frenchman in our group not adverse to simply wandering up to people, taking a photo from three feet away and walking off, I was able to hang in the background and shoot a few candid frames without being noticed.
Midday saw us anchored out of the wind in a protected corner of a bay for a spot of snorkelling. The shallow ocean floor was littered with sea urchins and I was quite taken with their bright neon colours in amongst the sharp black spines. The snorkelling, although prbably not on par with The Great Barrier Reef or Thailand, was the most impressive I had done and I spent about 45 minutes exploring among the coral.
One of our Vietnamese guides donned a lifejacket and jumped in to keep on eye on us. In true Vietnamses fashion he got quite nervous about his charges swimming in the ocean, and did his best to keep us near the boat.
At one stage he swam out to the end of the bay where Jacq, the Frenchman and myself were snorkelling. He told us not to swim so far away. To placate him we swam back against the strong current to the boat but I was a bit concerned about the guide, who tried to doggy paddle against the drift with his bulky jacket on. At one stage I thought I'd have to rescue him, but he eventually made it back.
On the journey back to the mainland, Jacq and I got talking to a couple about our age from Tasmania. They had spent the past two months cycling in Vietnam and Laos. They were full of stories about being scammed by the Vietnamese. It seemed that the locals knew when they had you over a barrel and weren't afraid to exploit it. He told of arriving in a town with just one guesthouse and paying 200,000 dong (about twice the price for a nice air conditioned room in a mini-hotel) for a room with a broken fan, no lock on the door and a nightmare of a toilet down the hall. When he tried to bargain the landlady simply walked away. He had to practically chase after her with the money.In contrast, our experiences have been mostly in towns that have already been trail blazed by backpackers. Accomodation and eating options are numerous and the competition seems to keep the prices down. As we said our goodbyes I was thankful that I had a mostly positive view of Vietnam, although I'm beginning to get curious about Laos, a place the Tasmanians raved about and many other travellers have given the thumbs up to.
Labels: Vietnam
Rhys and Jacq mastering the intracacies of deep frying everything in sightFrom pad thai at roadside stalls in Bangkok to amok fish curry in Siem Reap, pho bo in Saigon and white rose here in Hoi An, I've done my best to rip into the local cuisine.
Therefore a cooking class seemed to be a great way to see how it's all done, rather than always just sitting our Western arses down on a restaurant chair and consuming whatever they put in front of us.
Jacq and I booked in for a two hour class with the respected Mrs Phi at Tam Tam Cafe in Hoi An's riverfront district. For US$10 each we had the pleasure learning the tricks of rolling a proper spring roll from Mrs Phi in Tam Tam's breezy upstairs deck.
The class featured fried shrimp, spring rolls, fish soup and fish in banana leaf.
Mrs Phi wasn't totally impressed with some of my knife skills, having to re-chop an onion she had asked to be "finely sliced" for the spring rolls. I also copped a good-natured head shake after I accidentally dusted a shrimp all the way up its tail.
In my defence, I thought some of the prep work was a bit finicky for my taste. I'm more of a barbecue or curry kinda guy, but I persevered and even knocked out a half decent tomato rose as a garnish for the rolls.
Jacq did much better and wielded the big cleaver like a pro.
She was also a little suprised to see just how simple some of the Vietnamese dishes were. Rather than relying on lots of different spices and cookng techniques, the cuisine seemed to rely on a few fresh herbs (garlic, lemon grass, shallots), soy sauce and salt and pepper.
At the end we sat down to a very tasty private dinner with a couple of cold drinks and congratuated ourselves on a job well done.
Post script: Later that night and the next day, Jacq and I both felt decidedly queasy. In a first for this trip, we had given ourselves a mild dose of food poisoning!
Labels: Vietnam
Amman, Jacq and Rhys bask in the spotlightHoi An, Vietnam - Yesterday Huong, the cheery front office girl from our hotel, presented me with a flyer for something called the annual "Hoi An Run Prize".
Huong explained that it was a fun run was for locals as well as foreigners and it would be a great honour if Jacq and I would represent Phuong Nam Hotel in the event.
We were a little worried as the last time we had actually jogged was in Cambodia, a month ago. That time it nearly ended in tragedy as I went three different shades of green from heat exhaustion afterwards.
However, the "Prize" was to be held over 3kms through the middle of Hoi An and would start at 7am, so it didn't seem too far a distance, nor would it be too hot.
Down at the starting line this morning, a stage had been erected for the local Communist dignitaries, a PA system rigged up and around 200 school children and their parents milled about. It was a Big Deal.
There were just three foreigners, Jacq, myself and Amman from Germany who was working at a beach resort. We were ordered to stand in formation behind a school girl holding a sign, as the other teams of children had done behind their placard holders, to hear the speeches. I was impressed that they had two MCs, one who spoke Vietnamese and another to translate into English for us.
And then it was time for the races. By now it was mid morning and HOT. The girls 1500m went first. We watched them race off into the Hoi An streets with a motorcade of big Honda motorbike cruisers clearing the way. Five minutes later they came charging into the finish line.
Somewhat alarmingly, these frail Asian girls had run themselvs ragged. As each one crossed the line, they'd be scooped up by their parents and helped to the shade and given water. A few had that wobbly, glassy eyed walk you see during the final miles of a gruelling Hawaiian marathon.
Some parents were so keen to resuce their children they'd practically tackle them at the line and drag them away to administer first aid, whether they needed it or not.
I was a little worried how we'd fare against such serious competition in the 3000m event. By now us three foreigners had decided to stick together and I was going to run with Jacq and Anan in the women's race, no matter what. There was no way I was going to sign myself up for the mens 2000m "sprint" or the 4000m event.
Corralled into formation again, a quick whistle signalled the start and we were off, me careful not trample the 5'2" school girls dashing around my ankles.
Out of the corner of the eye I could see the men in the coffee shops and the moto drivers on the side of the road pissing themselves laughing at this tall, blonde foreigner running with the women. At one point a grandmother even stepped off the footpath in her pyjamas to point at me, say something in Vietnamese and crack up laughing.
Huong explained that it was a fun run was for locals as well as foreigners and it would be a great honour if Jacq and I would represent Phuong Nam Hotel in the event.
We were a little worried as the last time we had actually jogged was in Cambodia, a month ago. That time it nearly ended in tragedy as I went three different shades of green from heat exhaustion afterwards.
However, the "Prize" was to be held over 3kms through the middle of Hoi An and would start at 7am, so it didn't seem too far a distance, nor would it be too hot.
Down at the starting line this morning, a stage had been erected for the local Communist dignitaries, a PA system rigged up and around 200 school children and their parents milled about. It was a Big Deal.
There were just three foreigners, Jacq, myself and Amman from Germany who was working at a beach resort. We were ordered to stand in formation behind a school girl holding a sign, as the other teams of children had done behind their placard holders, to hear the speeches. I was impressed that they had two MCs, one who spoke Vietnamese and another to translate into English for us.
And then it was time for the races. By now it was mid morning and HOT. The girls 1500m went first. We watched them race off into the Hoi An streets with a motorcade of big Honda motorbike cruisers clearing the way. Five minutes later they came charging into the finish line.
Somewhat alarmingly, these frail Asian girls had run themselvs ragged. As each one crossed the line, they'd be scooped up by their parents and helped to the shade and given water. A few had that wobbly, glassy eyed walk you see during the final miles of a gruelling Hawaiian marathon.
Some parents were so keen to resuce their children they'd practically tackle them at the line and drag them away to administer first aid, whether they needed it or not.
I was a little worried how we'd fare against such serious competition in the 3000m event. By now us three foreigners had decided to stick together and I was going to run with Jacq and Anan in the women's race, no matter what. There was no way I was going to sign myself up for the mens 2000m "sprint" or the 4000m event.
Corralled into formation again, a quick whistle signalled the start and we were off, me careful not trample the 5'2" school girls dashing around my ankles.
Out of the corner of the eye I could see the men in the coffee shops and the moto drivers on the side of the road pissing themselves laughing at this tall, blonde foreigner running with the women. At one point a grandmother even stepped off the footpath in her pyjamas to point at me, say something in Vietnamese and crack up laughing.
But I didn't care, it was a great experience to run through Hoi An and to see the normally incessant scooter and bicycle traffic brought to a stand still at the intersections.
The parents of the school girls again showed how serious this fun run was by providing support from their motos. Water, cold towels and encouragement were all administered from the back seat of of a slow moving scooter. In the hot sun I looked for our Phuong Nam support crew, but they were nowhere in sight.
Jacq, as expected, was the winner in our class (ie non-local) but it seems participation was the important factor today. After our race we were herded onto the dais to receive flowers, souvenirs and pose for photos with the local chief.
A great event. As I promised the chief, I might be back next year.
The parents of the school girls again showed how serious this fun run was by providing support from their motos. Water, cold towels and encouragement were all administered from the back seat of of a slow moving scooter. In the hot sun I looked for our Phuong Nam support crew, but they were nowhere in sight.
Jacq, as expected, was the winner in our class (ie non-local) but it seems participation was the important factor today. After our race we were herded onto the dais to receive flowers, souvenirs and pose for photos with the local chief.
A great event. As I promised the chief, I might be back next year.
Postsrcipt: Three days later a photo of me with Amman appeared in the local Hoi An newspaper, complete with quotes from me about the importance of exercise and foreigners mixing with the locals. It's in Vietnamese so I only got the gist of it from Huong. Funny, I didn't remember being interviewed by anyone.
Labels: Vietnam
Hoi An, Vietnam - For some reason, I've been unable to view this blog from internet cafes in Nha Trang or here, in Hoi An.
I can still upload posts and photos (I assume), but I wonder if there is some sort of ISP filter or censorship going on here in Vietnam. Trying to view other blogs about Vietnam is also difficult.
Anyways, let me know if there are any glaring mistakes/broken links/broken photos on Backpack Storybook. I can still read your comments.
And thanks to everyone who has left comments so far. They've been great sources of motivation while I sweat it out in these internet cafes with their busted space bars and worn-off keyboard lettering.
I can still upload posts and photos (I assume), but I wonder if there is some sort of ISP filter or censorship going on here in Vietnam. Trying to view other blogs about Vietnam is also difficult.
Anyways, let me know if there are any glaring mistakes/broken links/broken photos on Backpack Storybook. I can still read your comments.
And thanks to everyone who has left comments so far. They've been great sources of motivation while I sweat it out in these internet cafes with their busted space bars and worn-off keyboard lettering.
Labels: Travel
Hoi An, Vietnam - It's only taken me 27 years, but I can finally say I have my own tailor.Loun on Phan Dinh Phung Street (it doesn't quite have the same ring as Saville Row) has done a bang up job cutting out a three piece black pin stripe number for me from a great length of English cashmere.
Like any good custom suit, it fits me like a glove and makes me stand straighter. Come job-hunt time in the UK next year it may even get me gainful employment.
So impressed was I by Loun's scissor work I ordered a long black coat and a casual jacket. Less than US$280 for the lot.
But Hoi An's that sort of town. Walk into a tailor store for a suit and the next thing you know you've been measured up for three suits, a coat, trousers and five shirts. Everything is in US dollars so it sounds cheaper than it is, but it's still a bargain when compared with the price for a standard suit off the rack at home. One that may still require altering.
A US magazine once bought a couple of suits from Vietnam and took them to a few renowned American tailors for appraisal. They gave the actual tailoring a seven out of ten and were quite impressed. They said it was just the quality of the cloth that wasn't as good as first world suits.
Hoi An's bigger tailors seemed to have solved that by offering whole walls of different fabrics from US$50 (Chinese and shiny) to US$250 and above (English and very, very nice). The hardest part is narrowing down which ones you like
Or just do what many visitors here do and buy them all.
Labels: Vietnam
Travel - When you open a spring water bottle, it is always, always filled right to the top. Impossible not to spill some.
Only one in four beers will be icy cold or even just cold. Even if you ask the wait staff to take one from the back of the fridge.
The middle of the road is for overtaking. Most people drive on the right side of the road. Driving on the left is apparently okay too, if you want to make a lefthand turn.
Driving with headlights on during the day is a no no, and in some places illegal. Headlights at night are optional.
Traffic lights count down the seconds to the next green or red light. It is okay to proceed through the intersection with five seconds of red still to go before green. You will be beeped if you are first in line and don't go.
Watch out for trucks and buses. They own the road.
In small towns popular with tourists, like Sihanoukville, Mui Ne or Hoi An, restaurants will have menus so alike they will use the same font, order of dishes and menu covers. They will all offer Western, local and Italian cuisine and none of it will be any good.
Shops and restaurants never have any change. Producing a 200,000 dong note to pay for a 70,000 dong meal will inevitably result in wait staff rushing around asking extended family members for change.
Toilets are usually awash with water. Wear your thongs.
When reversing, trucks play the tune "It's a Small World".
In many Cambodian and Vietnamese guest house bathrooms, the shower head is located on the wall between basin and toilet. You stand in the middle of the room to have shower. Everything gets wet.
Restaurant staff spend idle hours cutting paper napkins in two and then folding them. To wipe one's mouth still requires twice as many napkins.
Only one in four beers will be icy cold or even just cold. Even if you ask the wait staff to take one from the back of the fridge.
The middle of the road is for overtaking. Most people drive on the right side of the road. Driving on the left is apparently okay too, if you want to make a lefthand turn.
Driving with headlights on during the day is a no no, and in some places illegal. Headlights at night are optional.
Traffic lights count down the seconds to the next green or red light. It is okay to proceed through the intersection with five seconds of red still to go before green. You will be beeped if you are first in line and don't go.
Watch out for trucks and buses. They own the road.
In small towns popular with tourists, like Sihanoukville, Mui Ne or Hoi An, restaurants will have menus so alike they will use the same font, order of dishes and menu covers. They will all offer Western, local and Italian cuisine and none of it will be any good.
Shops and restaurants never have any change. Producing a 200,000 dong note to pay for a 70,000 dong meal will inevitably result in wait staff rushing around asking extended family members for change.
Toilets are usually awash with water. Wear your thongs.
When reversing, trucks play the tune "It's a Small World".
In many Cambodian and Vietnamese guest house bathrooms, the shower head is located on the wall between basin and toilet. You stand in the middle of the room to have shower. Everything gets wet.
Restaurant staff spend idle hours cutting paper napkins in two and then folding them. To wipe one's mouth still requires twice as many napkins.
Labels: Travel
Hoi An Old Town streetI thought it might be a city. Like Ho Chi Minh or Phnom Penh. Somewhere to stay put for a week or two or three, get a discount on a room and get totally into the surroundings. Or as 'into' as one can get speaking English, eating at Western restaurants, looking like a total backpacker and paying double the local's price for everything.
But Asian cities are dirty, messy horrible places to stay in. Or at least the ones mentioned above are. A small town is the place, and the best so far is Hoi An.
Great architecture, a nice beach down the road, cheap Beer Larues by the riverfront in the evening and the ability to get around on a bicycle or moto for next to nothing. And maybe not even get knocked down by a truck or bus if you're lucky.
I think one of the reason's I'm digging this place is the almost total absence of fluroescent strip lighting. South East Asia seems to love this horrible white-green light and insists on lighting every hotel room, restaurant and most bars with it. Liberally. Drinking Bia Hoi in Saigon sometimes feels like sitting in a doctor's waiting room. With beer.
Hoi An, thanks to Chinese influences, favours the lantern. Each evening on dusk the red, yellow, and green lanterns glow to life and give the town a surreal, totally calm vibe. Great to pedal slowly down the Old Town streets and choose a dimly lit bar for a pre-dinner beer.
I'm also enjoying blatting around the place on a moto with Jacq hanging on tight on the back, which we rent by the day for 40,000d (about AUD$3.50). Five kays down the road, through paddie fields and a village, is Cui Dai Beach, a great place to chill under a palm frond umbrella in the morning before the wind gets up.
Half an hour up the road up is a surfing beach with great peaks in the right swell and a very cool man who runs a guest house like you really are his guest, even if just staying for lunch like we do.
Labels: Vietnam
Rule 8: Male travellers shall grow a beard and stroke it endlessly1. The only appropriate pants to wear are long trousers made from sweat-wicking material and bought at a very expensive trekking store. Females may occasionally wear three quarter versions.
2. Footwear may only include hiking boots (regardless if walking around a metropolis of 8 million with roads and footpaths) or Teva-style padded sandals (on the beach only).
3. Clothing may be accessorised by one (1) item from the local culture ie Cambodian krama, Vietnamese conical hat.
4. Upon securing a street side table at a bar or restaurant, proceed to look coolly out at other sweaty travellers, as if to say "what, you haven't found a bar and got a cold beer already?".
5. If you do engage in conversation with other independent travellers, appropriate topics include: the extremes of weather in your home country, how cheaply one paid a cyclo driver to get across town and how "this place is nice, but its nothing compared to the three weeks I spent living with a family in a village outisde Battambang".
6. All converations with the local people shall be conducted in English with a token word or phrase from their language added, to give the impression you are imersing yourself in the local culture.
7. Because the local people speak English as a second language, with various levels of proficiency, you should simplify your language and garble the syntax to make it easier to be understood, especially if you are American. Eg: "Me. Please. Beer Larue. One. Cam on."
Four foot and no one out
Three to four foot lefts and rights breaking a hundred metres out. Offshore winds. Not a single person in the water.For the first time this trip surfable waves and surfboard hire came together. I had the choice of an epoxy 7'3 mini mal or a 7'5 spoon-bottomed twin fin. I chose the mini mal and got out there as quick as I could.
The old arms and shoulders were a bit weak after a month of no surfing but I got a bunch of waves before the tide sucked out too much and the wind swung onshore.
Hoi An street sceneWell, that's what Jacq said happened. I had nearly overdosed on sleeping pills trying to get some sleep on the bus and my memory of this quaint, ancient town only begins about 11am that morning in a strange hotel room.
Hoi An. A dozen Hollywood set designers couldn't do a better job of creating an old worlde, Asian-Franco town by a meandering river.
It reminds me a little of Rottnest off the coast of Perth, WA. Mustard yellow cottages, dusty, sand fringed roads and everyone getting about on bicycles.This is the clothing capital of Vietnam. Tailor stores display suits on every street. AUD$100 apparently buys you a top notch three piece. I'm planning to see how true this is.
Cafes and restaurants inhabit 100 year old buidings. Flags and lanterns hang from every balustrade.
Jacq and I have already decided we'll be spending a bit of time here.
Labels: Vietnam
Nha Trang main beachNha Trang, Vietnam - Nha Trang has a decent shorebreak pounding the main beach for the three days we are there. Totally unsurfable, but not a bad size at two to three foot and quite powerful considering its the South China Sea.
Jacq and I rented cheap Chinese bicycles for a day and rode north towards Hon Chong fishing village. At the entrance to the Cai River a couple of small, fat waves peel off left and right. Could have potential in a bigger swell.
Further north there appears to be a semi-surfable righthander. Again, it needs more swell to show its potential.
The main problem is surfboard hire. It is not until the afternoon we left that I found a board at the dive shop across from our hotel. It is an epoxy mini mal with no fins(?), but in broken English the shop assistant said there are sometimes waves for surfing.
Jacq and I rented cheap Chinese bicycles for a day and rode north towards Hon Chong fishing village. At the entrance to the Cai River a couple of small, fat waves peel off left and right. Could have potential in a bigger swell.
Further north there appears to be a semi-surfable righthander. Again, it needs more swell to show its potential.
The main problem is surfboard hire. It is not until the afternoon we left that I found a board at the dive shop across from our hotel. It is an epoxy mini mal with no fins(?), but in broken English the shop assistant said there are sometimes waves for surfing.
Guava Bar,Nha TrangNha Trang, Vietnam - An early morning bowl of pho bo, a crusty baguette and then we're off, back down the mountains leaving Dalat for the hot, humid coastal plains and the beach town of Nha Trang.
The 200km route is predictably torturous on the fully packed bus. Backpacks line the central isle. Legroom is scarce. The air con doesn't work. Most of the backpackers do the right thing and keep their seats upright.
The two slightly framed Asian-Americans next to me crank theirs right back at the start of the journey and doze for most of the six hours, confining the two burly Aussies behind them to an even sweatier, more cramped journey.
Yes, six hours for 200kms. I'm used to straight highways and doing big distances at top speed in Australia. In Vietnam the bus drivers work upa sweat to overtake motos, trucks, carts and cows and still only manage an average speed of 60kph.
Nha Trang has been described as the Surfers Paradise of Vietnam. Sun, sand and high rises. But I don't remember the Gold Coast being this gaudy. Concrete hotels line the three lane beachside highway.
The 200km route is predictably torturous on the fully packed bus. Backpacks line the central isle. Legroom is scarce. The air con doesn't work. Most of the backpackers do the right thing and keep their seats upright.The two slightly framed Asian-Americans next to me crank theirs right back at the start of the journey and doze for most of the six hours, confining the two burly Aussies behind them to an even sweatier, more cramped journey.
Yes, six hours for 200kms. I'm used to straight highways and doing big distances at top speed in Australia. In Vietnam the bus drivers work upa sweat to overtake motos, trucks, carts and cows and still only manage an average speed of 60kph.
Nha Trang has been described as the Surfers Paradise of Vietnam. Sun, sand and high rises. But I don't remember the Gold Coast being this gaudy. Concrete hotels line the three lane beachside highway.
Any advantage of having ocean views is swept away by the incessant moto horns below. A saving grace is a park along the beach front, where the Vietnamese come to sit in the afternoons, play badminton and stare at the Westerners. The start of the rainy season is in effect in Nha Trang. The normally crystal clear water is murky and the sky constantly hazy or overcast, meaning a trip to the offshore islands for snorkelling may not be on the cards.
Labels: Vietnam
Hang Nga's Crazy House, DalatAs Jacq and I stood on a street corner in the middle of Dalat with our backpacks looking for, what else, the backpacker district, Xu rode up on his motorbike and offered to help us on our way.
He pointed us up the hill and even rode up there to make sure we took the correct turn.
"No money," he assured us. "Today I make friends, tomorrow maybe you take a ride with me. I am Easy Rider."
The Easy Riders have an almost cult status on the Vietnam backpacker trail, particularly along the Central Highlands route between Dalat and Hoi An or Hanoi to the north.
They ride up to you on a street corner on their Honda or Bonus single cylinder bikes and announce "hello, I am Easy Rider" like they're a celebrity or something.
And they almost are. They have matching jackets, a weathered visage and the ability to take a backpacker on a ten day highlands tour at a moment's notice.
Jacq and I settled for a one day tour around Dalat, thinking if we enjoyed it we might take them up on the offer of a three day tour to Nha Trang, located about a 100 or so kays on the central coast of Vietnam.
However, I made the fatal mistake of trying to bargain with them. The Book says not to, that their prices are good value for what they provide. But this is Asia, and I couldn't help myself.
They knocked me back on any sort of discount and relations soured a little after that. However, we had a great day on the back of those bikes, seeing waterfalls, various pagodas, the Crazy House and a much maligned ethnic Ching minority village, whose inhabitants were definitely living in the third world (possibly even the fourth) considering how poor the kids looked. We decided not to do the three day tour with Xu and Nam, our Easy Riders, preferring to risk the Open Tour 'scam bus' back down the mountain to Nha Trang and then see the sights ourselves.
But I'm sure its good value. And a great way to get off the backpacker trail and see the real Vietnam.
Labels: Vietnam
Jacq at the Flower Gardens, Dalat
Market gardens outside Dalat
View from our guesthouse at duskIt feels weird after almost a month of being in a constant lather of sweat to be rugging up for the cold, but that's the reality of Dalat, located in the central highlands of Vietnam at about 1500m elevation.
The locals dress like it only got cold yesterday. They burn around on their motos in giant fur-lined anoraks, beanies and scarfs. It's probably a nice 22C during the day and maybe around 10C at night. A jumper and a pair of long pants will keep you warm.
However, I suspect the Vietnamese are designed for the heat. While I'm just about dead from heatstroke in Saigon, they go about their business without raising a sweat.
But I get my own back in places like Dalat, where a t-shirt will get me by during the day while they don several layers. The children are insulated even more and look like little pillows, sandwiched between Mum and Dad on the moto.
The locals dress like it only got cold yesterday. They burn around on their motos in giant fur-lined anoraks, beanies and scarfs. It's probably a nice 22C during the day and maybe around 10C at night. A jumper and a pair of long pants will keep you warm.However, I suspect the Vietnamese are designed for the heat. While I'm just about dead from heatstroke in Saigon, they go about their business without raising a sweat.
But I get my own back in places like Dalat, where a t-shirt will get me by during the day while they don several layers. The children are insulated even more and look like little pillows, sandwiched between Mum and Dad on the moto.
Labels: Vietnam
Phan Thiet fishing fleetThis medium sized town was home to another large fleet of fishing boats, many of which lined the bank of the river which cuts through the middle of town.
More of the fleet is anchored on the beaches near the mouth of the river. I was keen to have a look at river mouth and beach in case there was any potential for waves.
We took a side street at random and passed a school and rows of narrow, terraced homes. The street had a pleasant, almost European feel to it. Most people walked or cycled and the honking of horns from scooters was rare in these back streets.The paved road soon turned to a dirt track which then became little more than the kind of sandy path between houses. I had a real hard time keeping the momentum up on our bike through the boggy bits.
Predictably, the Vietnamese all thought this hilarious and they stopped their games and chores to watch us wobble by.
We eventually spied the beach through a gap between houses and stopped the bike to investigate. I had the feeling that this part of town didn't get many western tourists. We were pretty much stared at the whole time, from my hopeless attempt to park the bike in the sand, to us picking our way through the rubbish and round boats on the beach to my equally hopeless attempt to turn the bike around and power through the sand back to the road.
And the surf? None. But it was an interesting afternoon nonetheless.
Labels: Vietnam
Small but surfable, South Central Coast, VietnamHowever, reports from travellers we met who had just come from Mui Ne all said the ocean, while messy, was pretty much unsurfable.
On the day I arrived the main beach had about a foot of windswell, but the high tide had buried any chance of surfing it.
I did, however, find surfboards for rental at Jibes, a windsurfing hire place with bar and restaurant. The American there, Matt, said the beach around the corner, to the north, was more exposed to surf. Jibes rents boards for US$5 per hour.
Exploring the northern beaches by moto, I found an exposed beach with knee to waist high swell. It was definitely small, but glassy and with fairly good shape to the waves. The only problem was getting a surfboard. Jibes was a good 20 minutes back in town and I wasn't too keen on driving one handed with a board under my arm.
Mui Ne Beach, South Central VietnamA single road runs the length of Mui Ne (pronounced moo nay), a beach resort and fishing village on the South China Sea. International resorts and budget bungalows inhabit the southern end, while the local fisherpeople live in the lee of the cape to the north.
When we first arrived I was sure I could smell cheese toast cooking, and instantly my appetite went into overdrive. However, we soon learnt that Mui Ne is the epicentre of not cheese toast, but nuoc mam (fish sauce) production in Vietnam. The salty sweet-sour-smell hung over the town almost constantly. I didn't mind it. Many other travellers complained of the stink.
One morning I went for a walk down the beach to where a large group of fishermen were hauling a catch ashore from their boat.The women went to work sorting out the sting rays, jelly fish and crabs from the rest. What was left was a big mess of white bait, which they scooped into several baskets and carted it up the beach, no doubt to cook into nuoc mam.
Mui Ne was small enough for us to get around quite easily on a moto, which we rented for 24hrs for US$5. The main attraction in the town is the sand dunes, which the locals and tourists alike make a big deal about.
We scooted out to the yellow dunes to see them for ourselves and were a little disappointed. Dunes like those are a dime a dozen in Australia. I got the feeling many towns in this part of the world do whatever they can to create attractions and therefore bring in the tourists and their US dollars.
We also drove past the Red Canyon, which again was a little disappointing, and trekked up the Fairy Spring stream to the waterfall, admiring the red and yellow stained sand cliffs.
On our last evening in Mui Ne an angry storm collected in the sky above the sand dunes and rumbled into town with rain and almost constant lightning. It knocked the power out for a several hours so Jacq and took shelter on our first floor balcony and watched the show with a couple of cold Saigon beers.
Moto traffic, HCMCThe traffic. An endless stream of motos occassionally interspersed by trucks and buses. Private cars and taxis are rare. Crossing the road requires a leap of faith, or the help of a friendly tourist policeman. Wait for a small break in traffic, step out slowly from the curb and keep walking slowly and steadily. The motos should weave around you. Keep an eye out for trucks though!
Ca phe sua is my new love. Here they serve coffee in a tall glass with a layer of sweetened condensed milk on the bottom with the coffee packed into a small stainless steel perculator perched on the rim of the glass. Wait for it to drip down, add hotwater and stir. Wide awake in seconds.
The Rex Hotel. Our second pilgrimage to a former foreign correspondent's hang out this trip (the first was the FCC in Phnom Penh). An open air beer garden on the sixth floor, views across HCMC. Ice cold mugs of Tiger beer for VND30,000.Bia hoi. Enough reason alone to stay in this city. A litre of freshly brewed beer for VND3,500, or less than 20 cents in Australian money. One large stainless steel keg, a couple of small tables and low plastic stools is all it takes to create a bia hoi bar. Just add backpackers and locals. Everyone shouting beers foreveryone else. Steamed peanuts shared and glasses clinked.
Labels: Vietnam
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam - Backpack Storybook is back after a few turbulent days off the air.
Flouting the cardinal rule in third world countries - don't eat the hamburgers - cost me four days in bed. It's easy to joke about it now but at the time I thought I was going to die.
Flouting the cardinal rule in third world countries - don't eat the hamburgers - cost me four days in bed. It's easy to joke about it now but at the time I thought I was going to die.
Labels: Vietnam
