Snake Town and the Night Market

I was at a crossroads. When I prepared for the trip, I made a list of all the things I wanted to see and quickly discovered it was going to take more than fourteen days to see them all. Vietnam is a pretty long country, and they don't have the high-speed train system like in Europe.

They do, however, have lots of cheap airlines and lots of airports. So.. you can get anywhere, but you have to plan it a little differently than I'm used to. When I'm in Eastern Europe, I like just walking up to the train station fifteen minutes before the "all aboard!"

After six days using Hanoi as a base for day trips, it was time to move on. One option was to visit Central Vietnam where the ancient town of Hoi An and the preserved old capital of Hue hide themselves. Descriptions promised alleyways strung with lanterns and crumbling old palaces.

Most of the people I'd met on the cruise to Ha Long Bay had been there or were on there way there next.

I also wanted to fly to Cambodia to see Angkor Wat.

If I did both, I would have to skip Ho Chi Minh City. So, it was like that old maxim - "Fast, Cheap, and Quality - Choose Two"

When I was asking the Canadians for advice, the Quebecois was like "If you go to Cambodia, you need a visa," and I was like, "I got one," and he was like, "Yes, yes, but you ALSO need to make sure your Vietnamese visa allows for multiple entries because you will be LEAVING Vietnam and then will try to come BACK."

And I was like, "I got the multiple entry visa," and he was like, "Are you CERTAIN!" and his wife shushed him.

And she was like, "If you went to all that trouble, why wouldn't you go? Why live for 'just-in-case? You have it, so do it."

An argument could be made to save Angkor Wat for a later trip to Thailand, but... who knows if I'll be eating beans out of a can next year. This could be the last of the red-hot vacations, so I booked the flight.

Why live for "just-in-case"

The way it worked out, I had three hours to kill before I had to skip to the airport, so I decided to take a quick taxi to the suburb of Le Mat, the village of cobras.

Drowned myself in too too much coffee and ate too too many cucumber slices at the Free Breakfast Barn and went down to the lobby. Mr. Tong asked me what my pleasure was. I told him I wanted to go to Le Mat. He made a blank face.

In general, the staff had a habit of saying things they don't offer tours to are crappy. Every guide book said to see a town called Haiphong (a two-hour ride away) but Tong and Tung were like, "Haiphong? Say Goodbye-phong, it sucks."

So, I wasn't sure if this was more of the same. But he legit had no idea. I was like, "Snake village?" and he was like, "oh, oh! ok, you can take a taxi there for $5." I was like, cool. Then he was like, real casual like, "Oh, hey, was the phone you lost expensive?"

And I was like, "Not really. It was a pretty cheap Fire phone. They don't even make it any more."

And he pulled a phone out from under the counter, and I thought he was going to offer to let me use his, but.... it was mine!

The bus driver found it when the alarm went off at 5:30am, and he had to come to this neighborhood to pick folks up anyway, so he dropped it off. Pretty great.

I thanked him, asked him to thank the driver for me, and I jumped into a cab. How about that? Reunited with phonefriend.

I asked the driver to take me to Le Mat, and he was like, "Buh?" and I was like, "Uh, snake village?" and he was like, "Nur?" and I made a snake shape out of my hand and forearm and I was like "Ssst! Ssst!" and he laughed and nodded and we took off.

About a half-hour drive over a bridge and into the suburbs. I saw a guy getting his hair cut on the sidewalk while motorcycles drove around him. I need to add "barber shop" to the ever-expanding list of uses for the Hanoi sidewalks.

Le Mat, which they must call something else, was clearly labeled as Le Mat on street signs and local billboards, so I don't know what's up with the non-recognition. It may have been because there's really no reason to go there.

When we arrived, I made the snake-hand again and paid him that way. "Tssst! Tssst! Here's your dong."

I thought it was going to be a kitschy sidestreet with snake puppets and snake charmers and cobra hats and magnets and stuff, but... it was a very quiet neighborhood with three or four restaurants.

You go there to eat snake, and that's it. I asked what the deal was at one of the restaurants.

You can't just get a snake taco, you have to buy the whole snake. They have them in tanks like lobsters. I saw a sweet, stringy pile of them, and they saw me. Shoelaces with eyes.

If you go for it, it's like $50 and they kill it and skin it in front of you. They put the blood in a shot glass, and they put the still-beating heart on top of the shot glass.

Chug-a-lug, Donna.

An old man pointed to the fishtank and made a "shots shots shots!" gesture.

I declined this pleasure, so there was really no reason for me to be there. Maybe I'll come back with a British bachelor party or a Temple of Doom reenactment society.

                                        

I had about an hour to get back, and this was strictly nowheresville, but I wandered around a little. It was nice to see that folks have quiet places to live here. It's not all the chaos of the Big Bad City. Laundry on lines. Open doors at the end of peaceful alleys. Kids studying in courtyards. Bicycles.

A boy on a bike rode by me saying, "Hello! Hello! Hello!" in precisely the way you would say "Meow!" to a cat. I was the kind of animal who made those sounds.

I saw a cab drop off two superolds, and I waved to it. What a score for this guy. He thought he might have to drive back to the city empty. Instead, he picked up a fare!

Picked up my bags, made a final farewell to Misters Tong and Tung, gave them some lucky two-dollar bills, and went to the airport. I was headed to Siem Reap in Cambodia. New country!

No hassles at all with Vietnam Airlines. They don't make you take your shoes off or remove your laptop or anything. They're just like, 'Get on the plane, please sir or madam, we would like to fly, and we assume you have the same wish."

Maybe it's because they have genuine things to worry about here and don't have to manufacture fear to stimulate the economy. Like. We. Do. At. Home.

America? They oughtta call it Ascaredicat. (I'll work on that one).

Read Toni Morrison's Tar Baby on the flight. It's excellent. She is a genius, and I don't know why people aren't always talking about her and never shutting up about her. Why aren't I sick of hearing about her?

It is true that I chose to bring it on this trip, because I didn't want to be seen on the bus in Seattle with the cover's giant yellow "TAR BABY" on it.

Landed, deplaned. Plane travel here is a pleasure and a breeze. Cheapish, they don't molest you, and they always feed you. The hotel I booked online arranged to have a tuk tuk driver meet me at the airport.

Amusingly, he was on his phone when I got out of passport control, and I could only see the bottom and top of the letters in my name. He was blocking the rest with his forearm. It was like he was hugging me!

His name was Mitchell, and he was both the first Cambodian I met and responsible for my first tuk tuk ride.

                                           

It was breezy and wild and seemed dangerous but wasn't. It was dark, but I wore sunglasses to keep the road dust out of my eyes.

Mitchell said he'd take me to all the temples in the morning and drive me anywhere I wanted to go and wait for me and just be my guy all day for $20. I agreed. He dropped me off at the place, and we pledged to meet again in the morning, Mischief managed.

Hotel had a hot lobby and sleepy staff. It was really only about 9pm or so, but it gets dark early and stays muggy. They slowly gave me the key, I slowly took it, and I slowly swam upstairs.

My room had lizards and bugs in it, but they stayed on their side. I had a nice view of a swimming pool. Who knew they had those here?

I was sleepy but hungry, so I went back down and asked where I could get a bite at this hour. He was like, "Everywhere, man. Just go to the Night Market."

It made me think a little bit of the lyrics in Down in Mexico.

"I said, a-tell me dad, when does the fun begin/He just winked his eye and said, hey man, be cool."
 
                                            

It was about a ten-minute walk on dirt streets that open suddenly into wide, wild avenues. Found the action area with no trouble. And, it was everything you're picturing, reader - Sin and Souvenirs. Silk scarves, and street meat, and $1 cocktails, and foot rubs, and fish sticks.

I stopped at a little tent and ordered something called "fish amok," which is a kind of fish-paste-based curry and was amazing, and I want it again.

I was full and warm and buzzing with the energy of the market. Many hundreds of folks laughing and selling. Tall whitegirls with sunburned shoulders, built-up whiteboys with blond four-day beards and six-day hangovers, neon martinis, tarantula tapas, and everywhere local girls with everything to sell.

About forty people were in a little fenced-off area getting neck massages with their feet in a little whirlpool. A lady pulled at my sleeve and showed me a laminated card with anatomical spot illustrations of the body's various systems. Circulatory, musculature, nerves.

She asked me if I wanted a massage for $3. I was like, "Sure." Why live for just-in-case?
I pointed to my neck, It was sore around the nape from all the hauling of all the bags.

She was like, "Yes, neck good," and she took my hand and led me past the recliners and down a little hall.

She asked me to take off my shoes and enter a little room with five or six mattresses separated by curtains. It was indicated that I should remove my shirt and lie down. I did. The curtain was drawn.

Why was I brought here off the street? Maybe the recliners had to be reserved in advance.

I was alone for a while. I expected that she was going off to turn on some New Age music or start a fountain to a'trickling, or something, but all I could here was muffled speech and the distant sounds of the street outside. I wondered when the mattress last was cleaned.

She returned with a second lady. "You want two-lady massage?" she asked.

I was charged $6, but that made sense. A burden shared is halved, but the price is doubled.

It was supremely relaxing. Many hands make light work.

Drifted home through the lights and noise then through the no-lights and no-noise. My cares and pains distant. My sleep sound.

In the morning, I would meet Mitchell for a trip to one of the holiest places on Earth,

The Tale of the Four Red Dao

A long sleep was broken by an aggressive rooster. The sun wasn't up yet, but he had a lot of hope. He was being proactive, I think. I spent some time trying to think of a word for "rooster snooze button" (snooster?) and drifted back to halfdoze.

Sleep of one, half-dozing of the other.

The human roosters started hammering around 7am, and there was no going back. This is a boom town, and there are hostels and hotels going up all over the place. A lot of construction. It's like Seattle!

I had slept well, however, and I had a good shower and headed down for breakfast. One of the three Austrailian ladies was missing. The other two said, "Shiela's piked it!" If I've heard that expression before, I don't remember it. It really made me laugh, delivered in that cheerful way.

At breakfast, Kim asked me how old I was. I told him 43. He said he was 38 and that since I was older "In my country, you are big and I am small." He implied he had to defer to my requests, carry my bags, etc. Then he said, "But you pay beer."

He asked me what I did for a living. I didn't tell him I'd been laid off and in a sort of severance limbo. Too complicated. I just said I was a writer for Amazon's travel site. He made a confused face and typed on his phone for a few moments. Then he turned the screen to me.

There were a bunch of Korean characters and underneath was the English word: envious.

I was in a good mood and it was enhanced when Nye came in all dolled up in her native garb for the day's trip to her home village.

The Indianans were also spritely, despite a long evening ramble with the natives. I never got the full story there. We triggered their buddies when we walked outside. Hello, buy something? You have wifesister home like purse?

We got safely inside the minivan. As the last person was climbing in, I thought, "They are coming! Get to the chopper!"

Easy little ride to a Hmong village. It was just too too remote, darling.

Great valley view and our cameras went to our faces, and.... disaster. I had left my SD card at the hotel. Camera no work without. I got such a jolt. What a fuckup. I thought about invoking my age privilege and forcing Kim to give me his.

The Indianans totally had three extra, though, so they saved my worthless ass. I will cheer for Purdue the next chance I get.

More ducklings, of course. They knoweth where the minibuth doth stop. They marched with us for hours, priming and prepping us for the Big Sale. The older ones used the Power of Pity, the younger, the Sympathy of Speech. If they hadn't yet had menopause, they were pregnant.

Nye too. I hadn't noticed, but the Aussies did and remarked on it. They have a sense for such things, coming as they do from such a fertile land. Remarkable to watch these ladies with heavy baskets on their backs and babies in their bellies sure-footedly picking their way through these trails and over rocks in sandaled feet .

While we stumbled in our boots and sneakers.

I was at last targeted by May. As we trekked into the hilly forest, she wove grasses with her hands (most of them did) and asked me questions about my life. The answers to which could have no meaning.

The day was clear and bright, and the surroundings were like nothing I've seen. Full and green and jagged and strange. Agricultural mastery of the savage wilderness.

After about thirty minutes of hiking, small talk, and farm animals, we got to another little hilltop where Nye stripped a bunch of sugarcane for us. She asked who wanted to try it. Weirdly, I was the only one who raised his hand.

So I asked how to do it. And she handed me a segment.

You just bite it and suck the juice and spit out the resulting pulp. It was fuuuucking delicious. Cool and refreshing and not-too-sweet. It was also satisfying to make the old ptoo sound as you cleared your mouth for the next bite. I spat cane pulp all over Mt. Cuspidor.

When they saw I hadn't died, the Aussies and others tried some. I was like, "This is the fresh taste the corn industry is trying to keep us from knowing about!" but there was no reaction. They're all deep in the pocket of Big Fructose!

A little boy all done up like a French preppie on a yacht rambled by with a wheelbarrow, and we followed him deeper into the forest.

May told me that if I'd only been here one month ago, I would have seen different colors, since the rice was being harvested then. I told her I was sorry I missed it. Then she handed me a cunning little horse she'd woven out of thick grasses. It was amazing, really.

While I marveled at it, I thought, "I will buy all of your garbage now forever. May, my love, you've won my heart. We shall ride this grass horse together across the rice fields of commerce forever." The use of color! The sweet tail. The tasteful mane!

If it had rained, they would have had to cancel this walk, because we were going through some twisty slides and steeperies. Nye said the ducklings we had seen make this walk every morning in the dark, so they can be at the bus depot when people arrive. God.

You do what you have to to get that buck. I'm sure the idea of sitting at a desk for six - eight hours would make them think I was the crazy one.

They don't get the minibus to cut out the middle portion, so it's like a three-hour pre-rooster walk for the chance to make two or three dollars.

We crossed a bouncy little bridge and were, at last, in the village. Which was a collection of shops and slaughterhouses.

We were now joined by people from many different tribes. Welcome, weary traveler! You have mothersisterwife? You buy something?  There was a little place to get water and Fanta, so we stopped. It was like the Mos Eisley spaceport.

                                                

May dumped out her basket of nonsense, and I bought a scarf and tote bag to thank her for the horse. This inflamed the desires of everyone else. You buy me too? You help me too! A woman with gold teeth and a tight red headscarf got right in my face.

You buy from Hmong, now buy from Dao. I am Dao people. Buy from Dao people.

I said, ok, and three more popped up. I was surrounded. The Australians were cracking up. The four of them made me pinkie promise to buy from each of them when I was done drinking. What had I done?

While I sipped my water and rested, they were behind me saying, "Do not forget Dao! You buy from Red Dao."

A few more Hmong came up, but I showed them the goods May had sold me. "I have already. See?" This didn't help. "Why you buy her not me? You help her no help me?"

We moved on. Most of us had been soaked for ten - twelve bucks and carried bracelets and change purses and tiny stone carvings. Most of us thought showing that we had something already would make people stop trying to sell us things, but it had the opposite effect. It just let them know we put out.

My Four Red Dao stayed with me, two on each side. I was like Dorothy with her companions strolling through a strange country to a distant palace. I thought they were leading me to their store, and I kept asking, "Is your store close?" and they would nod.

But we kept moving on, and I didn't see any Dao stores. It was all Hmong shops. Nye needed to help the Indianans negotiate for a chess set, so we paused at a little stonemaker's place. My Daos were like, "You buy now?"

Turns out they were their own stores. Everything they had to sell was in their backbaskets the whole time. I don't catch on very quickly.

I was like, "Ok, let's do this," and they all dumped out a pile of crap on the ground and started lifting it to my face. Buy! Buy!

                                           

I handed them each 100,000 dong, and I was like, "Ok, you each get a hunnertthousand, so you all have the same, so I'll take one thing from each of you."

100k dong is roughly $5, so I was paying $20. I could have bought a North Face Cloak of Invisibility for that much.

But they were like, "You give us each 200k," and I was like, "No," and they were like, "150 each and 50 for baby."

A baby materialized.

I said 30k for baby but no more. They were like, ok. I picked out a giant fistful of stuff and they pretended to be disappointed, but they were creaming their native underthings in delight. It was a big score for them.

The Dao Industrial Average was soaring! Boom! Finance joke!! Ka-blam!

The Purdue folks had their chess set, and it was time to go.

Nye took us to her mother's house. Tiny little shedshack with a concrete floor. Momma Nye had broken her leg somehow, so she couldn't sell change purses anymore. She waved sadly from her bed. We waved back, Some of us put money on the floor.

Outside, my four Dao were waiting again. I was like, "aww, come on" but they were like, "Gift for you, gift for you!" and they gave me a bunch of free bracelets and one of them put a sort of charm with bells on my camera strap. It was charming.

They must have felt guilty for fleecing me.

A fifth came out of nowhere. "You buy from Dao!"

I was like, "You are late to the party, sister. You missed the pinkie promise parade earlier."

She held a bunch of change purses in my face.

I pulled out the eight or so I had and fanned them like a poker hand. I was like "You buy from me!"

The Australians craaacked up, So did my Four.

Fivey was like, "Ok, ha ha, how much?" I said "Two hundred thousand!" and she said, "Ok, ok, I give you fifty!" and we all had a great laugh, and then it was over.

She wrote her phone number down for me. "For home stay," she said, "For when you visit with you wife and sons."

That's a thing here. You can skip the hotel and sleep in the village. It's supposed to be cool and you get breakfast and a mosquito net.

Then we were gone. We escaped the Selling Fields of Vietnam.

Easy ride back to the hotel to pack up. There was about an hour to buy more North Face clothing should one desire and many did desire. I returned the SD card to its home state. So grateful to those Boilermakers.

Nice little lunch where the Australians were reunited with their companion. One of them told her how "I got some native digits" in the village, and I pulled out the card with Five's number on it, and we all giggled.

Then Tung showed back up to take us to the big bus to take us back to Hanoi.

Friendly farewell to Nye. And Kim. He was there for two more days. He's going to have enough inventory to open a change-purse warehouse back in South Korea.

Sapa was beautiful to see. Raw and interesting. You can see where the older way of life is going to get squeezed out when this place becomes Moab-with-rice fields in five years or so, but it's a really charming mix right now.

Finished the Sinclair Lewis book on the long ride back. He's fantastic. I wrote down some situations and quotes to steal.

We stopped again at the roadside banana leaf hotdog place. I got two dumplings this time instead.

A local boy got on with us and sat next to me. He seemed pretty heartbroken.

Turns out he was a "fixer" for the South American version of The Amazing Race. They shoot their show here all the time, and it's his job to help them navigate local stuff. What a cool job. He showed me videos on his phone of Colombian contestants pillow fighting while balanced on logs. And stuff.

They were apparently South American celebrities.

So, he was like a bunch of people I know in NY, LA, or New Orleans. Useful locals who show up when a production comes to town.

His sorrow came from trouble he was having with a girl in Sapa. They have a long-distance thing going on, and she had posted a picture of herself with a different boy on Facebook. He flipped out, and she blocked him.

He made the six hour bus ride up there to patch things up, but she wouldn't see him. He was riding back in defeat.

I couldn't tell if she was a village girl or a city girl up there making money as a guide or as a hotel counterperson or what, but I was like, "Hey, guy, you're good looking, you have a good job, and it will mean a lot to her that you came up there to fix things. She's thinking about you right now, I'm sure of it. It will work out."

He said that made him feel better. He showed me some pictures of her on his phone. I dug mine out and showed him some pics on mine.

We said goodbye in the road in Hanoi as motorcycles swarmed around us. We're Facebook friends now, so I'll find out if he wins her back.

Tung took everyone back to their hotels in a van one by one. I sat with my bags in my lap until it was my turn.

It was very nice to see the Original Mr. Tung and Mr. Tong again. I told them I had a wonderful time.

In my room, I realized I'd left my phone on one of the buses. Probably when I took it out to swap chickpics with Jacky.

Careless, man. It was late at night, and I was leaving in the morning. Would I ever get it back, or was a Red Dao woman even now using it to order a pizza? I phoned down to Mr. Tong.

Do you suppose, I said? I will see, he said.

Among the Hmong in the Rice Fields of Sapa

The morning bus to Sapa was scheduled to leave at 6am, which meant I would miss out on the hotel's free breakfast. Alas! When I went downstairs to wait, Mr. Tong had a little bag of toast and bananas for me. Also coffee. So nice!

Bag of toast!

Sapa is in the mountainous northwest of the country near the border with Laos and China. It's where the "ethnic" tribes live, the Hmong, the Red Dao and others. It's the "other" 12% or so of Vietnam's makeup.

Their lives are hard, since they are often pushed out of their historic lands to make room for dams and hydroelectric power stations and stuff to help out the populated parts of the country. In Sapa, however, they appear to be doing quite well for themselves.

A new group of pals to enjoy the temporary company of on the bus. Three marvelously vocal Australian ladies in their sixties, a Japanese girl with a selfie stick, an American couple from Indiana (they wore Purdue t-shirts) , and a Korean guy named Kim. His English was rudimentary, but he had a lot of enthusiasm and I had a lot of patience, so we got along very nicely.

He wanted me to be very clear that he was from South Korea, held out both palms to me and said "South! South!"

The driver's hype man, the Lics of this tour, was mercifully silent. His name was also Tung, and he was a Tung that did not speak. I was able to read and nap.

We stopped at a little roadside thing, and I bought one of everything in a dude's pot. A bready dumpling, the sort I'm familiar with from Chinatown dim sums, and something in a banana leaf tightly bound with rubber bands.

It took a long time to get it open. Layer upon layer, and then, at the center, a weird compressed lump of... meat. Grey. Tough. All that unwrapping and mystery led to Vietnamese... bologna? A hot dog?

I put a lot of hot sauce on it.

Otherwise uneventful ramble up and up into the hills. They would open suddenly into valleys of shocking green. Water buffaloes watched us go by, wet grass dripping from their mouths, just like in my dreams. Fascinating terraced rice fields of light green and pale gold.

Spent some time looking at the map the Canadians had given me in Ha Long. There's lots to do around here. If you're the sporting sort, you can hike forever. I was going to be content to try some foods and see a few villages.

After a semi-sick-making corkscrew of a final stretch, we all seeped out of the bus at the mountain station. We were immediately surrounded by local craftswomen. They are merciless in their requests for you to buy change purses and bolts of cloth from the baskets they carry on their backs. An organized gang of about seven of them competed for our attention, followed us all the way to the hotel and stayed in front the entire time we were there.

They had imprinted on us like ducklings.

The older ones just say, "You buy something me?" but the younger ones have conversational English and German. They ask you where you are from and about your family. It's the equivalent of taking a date out to dinner first. "Ok, ok, you have nice name. USA very good. You buy something me?"

Later, a local guide told me they used to ask female travelers, "How many children you have?" assuming they have at least three. For many reasons, the question can trigger sadness or anger. And when you say "No children," the natives think there's something medically wrong with you.

The awkward feeling is bad for business. So, they quickly adapted to ask, "You have brother or sister? How many?"

A woman with a baby was able to exact many promises from the Indianans. They told her she could be their local guide and their official change-purse supplier.

I was mostly left alone. I didn't make eye contact and it was an otherwise target-rich environment, so they would move on after their cheery, "Buy something for you wife, you sister, you mother?" went unanswered. I'm sympathetic, and I would buy many things later, but right off the bus I wanted some coffee.

Like a person.

Charming, cool-aired little mountain town. Lots of sporting equipment for sale and lots of restaurants and rustic hotels. Also a large, sunken soccer field with kids running around. I watched two boys play a game where they threw bottle caps at a wall. I guess it was like "penny pitching," but they don't have coins here.

At the hotel, we were fed buffet style. I sat with Kim and he did a funny thing where he would take a single grain of rice or a tiny bean off of my plate. He was showing off his chopstick dexterity, I guess. I kept laughing, so he kept doing it.

I work(ed) with a Korean American back in Seattle and I told Kim that my coworker says the game Starcraft is very popular in Korea. Kim lit up and said yes yes, Starcraft. Then he said, "We call it... ah, finger sports."

Video games are finger sports. I liked that. I also liked that my coworker's story had been true and useful.

Then we checked in and I took a long, hot shower. It was hard to tell which container held which cleansing liquid. There was some trial and error.

Then we all met again in the lobby for a late-afternoon visit to Cat Cat village. Our assigned beggars were laughing together outside. I loved their colorful headscarves and sturdy baskets. As we exited the lobby they sprang to life. It was money time. "Remember you promise buy something? You need guide now?"

Heartbreaking.

It was like we were the hotdog at the center of the banana leaf. They kept unwrapping our resolve layer by little until they could get that lump of grey meat. The Indianans made more promises as we were whisked away in a mini-bus.

The local guide was named Nye. She was a Hmong lady who spoke very good English. She told us not to buy anything in Cat Cat because she could get us a better price in her village tomorrow. That's what it all boils down to. Which tribe would win the Yankee gold?

We were let out at a scenic spot, and I took a lot of pictures. The farms and fields and foggy mountaintops were very beautiful. Locals laughed to see us pointing our cameras at chickens and pigs. Babies ran around with sticks in their mouths. Boys played King of the Mountain.

A nice little hike over a rocky path. We were followed by some older women, but they had a more dignified sales pitch. Houses and strange birds. Buffaloes and shedshacks. We got to a little organized market area. I defied Nye's advice and bought a little handmade rag buffalo toy.

As I was paying I noticed it had a tear in the horn. Some stuffing was coming out. It was the only buffalo, and that was what I wanted. Everything else was elephants and dogs and chickens. I showed the lady and she called out to one of the other market women.

I thought she was asking her if she had a buffalo in her pile, but the woman came over with needle and thread. While I watched, she patched up the horn. Fixed it. I loved watching her work. She bit the thread when she was done. I was sorry that my first thought was, "Just get another one." This one is just fine. It took her maybe three minutes. I love him more for his stitches. He'll have a name by the end of the trip.

Probably Snitchy, since snitches get stitches.

Then, a scenic waterfall! Folks competed for pictures in front of it. The Japanese girl put them all to shame with her selfie stick. Some live music started playing, and I made myself laugh thinking about old jungle movie lines like, "When you hear the drums, it means you're already dead."

Some dancing folks were folk dancing in a little shed. They did the thing were you hop and try not to get your ankles chopped by bamboo sticks, and they did they thing were you find a girl and high five her. They danced on a little stage, and the back wall was painted to look like a cavern. When they exited, it was like they were going back inside the mountain.

Cute little show. Then a longer walk. We passed some concrete posts in the ground and I said, "Behold, an ancient clock!" but nobody laughed, so I repeated "When you hear the drums, it means you're already dead" to myself until we were back at the mini-bus.

Some dudes had a pig tied to a motorcycle. I guess that's how you get pigs up and down there. It was sad to see. While I watched, they took it down by means of the enormous wooden pole it was tied to. The pig shrieked as it was suspended in the air, and there was a terrible cracking sound.

                                               

I hated hearing that shriek and that crack. I was filled with rage and grief at once, a processed bologna of emotions.

The pig calmed down when it was safe on the ground, so I figured it was the pole that had made the sound and not the pig's hoof or leg. I'm glad, ultimately, that I saw it. I mean, it would be ridiculous to leave feeling like, "Ah, the people and the animals, they live here in perfect peace and harmony. Pets and their vegetarian friends."

I'm not articulating this very well. I guess what I mean is, as is often noted, we live far away from our food sources. It's very easy for me to feel like a package of pork chops is a completely separate thing from a sweet pig nosing through the brush and grunting.

I hope that the pity I felt for the pig will stay with me, but it's so hard to change my habits. I am certain I'll eat bacon again. I just wish it were more possible to retain the idea that I'm making a conscious choice to have something killed for my consumption. Our diets are dishonest. Southeast Asia has turned me into Lisa Simpson.

We mini-bused back to the mega-hotel and most of us went shopping in town for North Face jackets. The factory is local, and the goods are impossibly cheap. Without shipping and labor in the equation, these things are $15 - $20. At home, they're $300.

I sure bought one. A giant down-stuffed winter coat with a hood for $15. Made in Vietnam!

The Indianans were true to the oaths they'd sworn to the ducklings, and they went off on a little walking tour with them. How did they have the energy? And where would they go, the Fabulous Alley of Cloth Bracelets? I went to sleep like a person. I held Snitchy in the crook of my elbow, and we dreamed together as we lay on the soft jacket.

The Hammer is Not For Fighting With Your Darling

Woke in the dark and saw the crew squid fishing. They shone a spotlight into the water and dipped a baited stick up and down. The squid were visible. Very tiny and giving off bioluminescent flashes of sudden green and instant red.

I watched the sun rise over the rocks and heard the oars of distant fishermen. My room had a balcony, and I read a few dozen pages of It Can't Happen Here and closed my eyes in the cool air.

Several of my shipmates had stayed up late drinking Tiger Beer, so they were a little groggy at breakfast. Meals were served communally, which meant they brought a giant plate of nonsense to the table, and you all take turns trying to get your portion.

Most folks were locked in "Oh, no, you first" mode. I was seated with the American-Vietnamese family I met yesterday. The ingredients were there to make your own spring rolls, and they took great pleasure in showing me how they've done it all their lives.

While we ate, Lics reminded us our room was equipped with a hammer.

"It is not for fighting with your darling, ok, but for breaking out window if ship sinks, something like this."

There was a demonstration where a dude cut a single apple to look like an enormous pair of swans. Seeing the wings extend was surprising and thrilling. His tiny cuts made them the thin slices expand and climb.

They also showed us how to flash-boil shrimp. There was a lot of steam and then there was a lot to eat.

It was time to go kayaking, but I declined. It had been several days of go go go, and I was behind on my writing. I waved good-sailing to the tender and wrote pleasantly on the balcony for a few hours.

Shortly before we set sail, I learned I didn't get a job I'd interviewed for. A shame, since I thought it had gone well. The financial circumstances of the last few years have made it that this isn't a crisis, but I have conflicting emotions. Like, the job wasn't going to be fun, but everybody wants to get what they go for, and it felt bad not to get it.

Being laid off and then not getting this gig means I'll have free time to develop the discipline to be a novelist, I suppose. Half the time I'm filled with the thrill of liberty! And the other half I'm scared.

And this was on my mind as I watched the tender of wealthy kayakers returning. Would I be their peers next year? Would I become bitter and resent the easy life of the Finn?

While they dried off, Lics invited us to the common deck for a game.

He placed about twelve toothpicks down in the rough, boxy shape of a cow. The cow had four legs, two horns, and a tail. Our task was to move two toothpicks to transform the cow into two cows.

"Only two move, ok! And no break toothpick! And both cow must have tail, four leg, and two horn!"

So, some Canadians and some Germans and I went to work while the others at their tables went to theirs.

The head was triangular (I recognize this is difficult without pictures, but Lics made us all swear not to take them), and I felt that maybe removing the tail and making another triangle elsewhere was the key. I was reluctant to dismantle the head.

Like with the food, everyone was hesitant to take over, but you could tell a few of the dudes had some ideas. I let them go with it, but when they tried to undo the triangle, I would repeat, "I am reluctant to dismantle the head."

Frankly, I thought some good old-fashioned German engineering would get us through, but they couldn't get it. Nobody could. Lics drifted between the tables cackling and repeating:

"Tail! Four leg! Two horn! Two cow!"

Despite a noble effort by the Quebecois to make it look as if two cows were retreating, it failed the tails test. 

Eventually, Lics sensed our frustration and said, "Here is a hint, ok. The cow has been with its darling, something like this."

Then he came over and lowered the two "stomach" toothpicks to make the cow look like it had a pregnant belly. 

"Two cow! One is inside mother!"

I was like, "Ours has twins, so we made three cows, so we win." 

He didn't agree. Anyway, it was cute but ultimately a trick. It was interesting to see how a group of strangers worked on an unsolvable toothpick problem together. 

It helped us bond, anyway. The Canadians gave me a map of Sapa, my next destination. They had just been there and promised it was wonderful. 

And that was essentially it. A diverting day and a half in a surreal, natural environment. Sea air and sublime rocks.

We sailed back and got back on the bus. I tore off great chunks of It Can't Happen Here and underlined sentences I loved. The plot is a little exaggerated, but the wisdom and humor made the author seem very much like a genius to me. 

Also, everything that was a problem in the 1930s is a problem today. 

All of the news back home is about "conservative" candidates and governors wanting to restrict the number of Syrian immigrants the US accepts, and several of my friends are posting pictures of the first Thanksgiving in response.

It shows a chilly pilgrim being shown how to feed itself by a noble Indian and says, "What if the Indians hadn't accepted these religious refugees?"

And I'm sure my friend's mean, "There wouldn't be an America if we didn't allow refugees. It's how the country was built."

But, of course, the Pilgrims hated the Indians and slaughtered them. So, it's quite possibly the worst possible analogy for my well-meaning friends to use. 

I'm sure I'm not the first to make this observation. 

We arrived in Hanoi in one piece and were taken to our respective hotels. Eternal friendships forged on the boat were discarded. 

I traded the humorous Mr. Lics for the familiar comfort of Misters Tong and Tung. They were happy to see me. 

Mr. Tong asked me if I was going back out. I was, I said, to eat. "Do not eat any pineapple," he said. I had had pineapple on the ship, so I was like, "Uh oh." I thought he was warning me about e-coli or something. 

"What's wrong with the pineapple?"

"A lady this morning was charged ten dollars for one, so be careful."

I was careful. Followed a stray cat to a noodle shop and ate pho with fish sauce. The cat ran up and down the stairs. Like the rest of us, she was dodging motorcycles and trying to keep cool.

Ha Long Bay and the Surprising Cave

Woke up early and tanked up on the coffee. They don't skimp on that condensed milk, boy howdy. It drips thickly from the pitcher and hangs there like a frozen image on a cereal box.

In front of the hotel, the streets held only a few hungover, bristle-bearded Scotsmen. They sat on plastic stools and looked out on the fruit bicycles with unknowable plans in their red-headed hearts.

My tour bus arrived. Tall, thin dude came into the lobby and took my hand lightly like we were old friends. I waved good-bye to the misters Tong and Tung and was led across the street to the waiting bus. I had most of my luggage with me, since I would be spending the night on the boat.

Bus was full of the usual assortment of Europeans and Australians, a few Japanese, and truly exotic, a Finn.

Australians are always so pleasant to meet on an adventure. They're similar personality-wise to Texans, but you can stand them and even like them. They're usually resilient and humorous, but most of all they're experienced travelers, since their country encourages exploration and gives them something like three months a year paid vacation.

That last part might not be accurate. Regardless, it's ridiculous of me to make sweeping claims about a national character, but I've never met one who wasn't charmingly boisterous, immediately friendly, and roadwise.

We bulled our way through the cramped streets of the Old Quarter and broke through to the highway, bordered by a gorgeous extended mosaic for what seemed over a mile. Then, the open road. Farms and farmers, trucks and motorcycles. Always motorcycles.

The guide introduced himself as Lics. He pronounced it "leeks" sort of. The words here get all bouncy, and just when you think you can guess how something is pronounced, it hits the gas or the brakes and undulates like a pliosaur in a remote lake.

He said everyone should call him "Lee, as in Bruce Lee, and like Bruce Lee I can help you with anything, even in how to help your darling find paradise."

It was the first of two days worth of erotic innuendo from the very horny Mr. Lics.

Many of us were tired, but Lics got on the mic and read out the first two pages of the Frommer's guidebook to Vietnam. "The ethnicity is 87% Kihn, ok, something like this, ok, so most people Vietnam are Kihn. Up in mountains, ok, are ethnics, ethnic peoples, ok, something like this, like H'mong peoples and Dao peoples, ok. Something like this."

On and on, peppered sometimes by repetition of his "jokes" like, "Many people Vietnam marry young and have one love. I am marry (I could see his ring) but if anyone have trouble with husband, come see Lee and I will show you how to find your heaven and paradise."

Then he asked me where my "darling" was. "You travel alone with no darling? You need tip from Lee."

Maybe there's an appendix in the Frommer's guide I don't know about.

Then he gave us our first big chance at paradise. He said, "Ok. maybe I talk too much, something like this? Maybe you want sleep for rest of ride?" Dead silence. I had hoped, perhaps, for a "Oh no, DO go on, Lee!" from the Finn.

Preeety sure the silence meant nobody wanted to be rude, but that they wanted him to stop. He took it as encouragement, though, and dove into the bloody history of the French occupation, the later Japanese takeover, and eventually the American War.

"The French, ok, they used to make Vietnamese people race, something like this. And they hit them in backside with stick like horse. Because, ok, when you are hurt in buttside, you run faster, ok.

The Japanese make Vietnamese stop growing rice and only grow industrial tree. Rubber tree, something like this, and no food. They say they will pay for tree in rice they grow. But by time trees grow, Japanese peoples leave, ok, and four million people starve. Something like this."

We were headed to see caves and lagoons and crystal waters and interesting geological formations, and he was turning it into a pretty depressing lecture.

Short version is. Japanese lose WWII and go away. French try to come back, but the Vietnamese, hardened now, filled with the spirit of "never again!" now, confound and defeat them at Dien Bien Phu.

Then, I think, the French are like. Well, monsieurs, it seems you're more trouble zen you air worth. A shame, perhaps, you will now become the, 'ow you say, Communeest."

And over in America, we were like, "Communist?! Hell, we need to do something about that. I mean, we can't fight Russia, but we can teach folks who might like the Red way of life that it's no way to be. Hell, I hear four million of 'em just starved to death. They need McDonalds not Mc...Moscow."

So, we came in. But they were hard to fight on the ground, because we couldn't see them very well from the air. We like to bomb first and then walk in to pick off the survivors. Too many trees, though. So we dropped napalm, Agent Orange, to kill the trees. So we could see the people. So we could kill them. To save them from believing the West was bad.

                                               

I mean, I'm sure there wasn't a genuine philosophy really. That was all just advertising. Wars are only ever truly about an opportunity to spend money.

If you send in the military, it makes factories light up all over America. A dazzling necklace of bright production strung from the bullet manufacturers in Maine, resting briefly as a pendant in an Indiana chemical factory, and trailing on to the jet plane assembly plants in the Pacific Northwest.

Good for the economy, bad for the "enemy."

"But, napalm destroy tree but Vietnamese peoples are in tunnel underground, ok, something like this, so bomb not work. But napalm in air and water and many peoples born without arm, ok, or baby come out with bad brain, something like this."

And, surely by design, Lee got to the part about napalm and its continuing effects on fertility just as we pulled into something called the "Crafts Factory for Disabled Persons"

It was nice to stretch our legs, though many of us felt almost guilty for having them, as we were led past about fifty tables where assorted children with assorted birth defects cranked out masterwork paintings, silk scarves, and sculptures.

They were genuinely skillful, robotic and efficient. It was chilling to watch.

By coincidence, a bus of female pilots arrived around the same time. They looked very smart and fierce in their uniforms. Dark black hair in a fashionably fierce knot, lipstick as bright as the Soviet flag. Some of the cripples rose from their benches to give them flowers.

I bought some ginger candy and some postcards. I did not buy the cuttlefish-coated dried peas.

We peed and washed our faces and got back on the bus. A few military monuments were on the roadside. They were supposed to look like bullets, but they looked like soldiers worshiping giant cosmetics.

Lee had no more terrors to share, so it was a quiet two hours to the marina of Ha Long Bay.

As we pulled in, on the outskirts, we passed an abandoned amusement park, and my heart twisted when I saw a rusty old ride where the carts were shaped like kangaroos. Another picture I'll never take. Will anyone?

As I've traveled, I always marvel at the sheer number of tourist carts and storefronts and warehouses of pottery and wonder how many of them ever get visited. Blankets in Mexico, honey in Bulgaria, folk music cassettes in Iceland...

The marina had a large train set-looking model of what investors want Ha Long Bay to look like in ten years. A depressing warren of towers and hotels and cabanas. It seemed fine to me, but I reckon they would like people to just fly in there and stay there instead of spending money four hours away in Hanoi first and busing over.

We took a little tender to the boat where we'd be sleeping that night. My cabin was very nice. My grandmother was a very sweet woman, kind, literate, wise, generous. She was only snobby about one thing - nautical terms. If you called your cabin a "room," there was a noticeable passing chill.

My cabin was pretty fancy. As he was handing out the keys, Lee said "Mr. Simon only one traveling without his darling, so I order him a lady for his room tonight."

Everyone laughed.

"Just one?" I said. Everyone laughed harder.

We dumped our packs and washed our faces and met again for lunch. Amazingly, the couple seated across from me were also from Seattle. Tanned, healthy, real-estate investors.

Giant plates heaped with sizzling pork, shrimp, and cabbage. As we set sail, the cool breeze of the sea brought great spirit to the room. The Finn grunted in pleasure.

The scenery was indescribably beautiful. Harsh rocks jutting from out of the sea, floating magical islands threaded with thick green vegetation, ancient shrimp boats, bright blue sky with full clouds.

One of the Germans whispered that it looked like a scene from Avatar. Which it did.

                                                   

None of my pictures really captured it, but I will remember it forever. So quiet and strange.

We were fed and rested and ready for action, so we boarded the tender again. A floating convenience store in a row boat appeared next to us. A woman and her child selling Oreos and bottle water. I guess someone has to sell you something, and the bikes wouldn't work here, would they?

Lee took us to The Surprising Cave. I was a little disappointed that it was on the agenda, since I'd recently been in a cave in Tennessee, and, you know, it's cool to see one every ten years or so, but...

It was, however, very different and interesting. It was at the center of a mountain, so instead of descending, we climbed up into it, and the cavern was enormous with very different growths and rock patterns than I've seen.

One of the Germans wanted to know if there were secret places you could go to that other tours couldn't go. Lee didn't understand. He, the German, had just been in a cave system in Slovenia where you have to swim to get from chamber to chamber.

In one massive opening, a stalagmite jutted out at a phallic angle, and Lics had a field day. "We stop here. Does anyone know what this look like?"

19 brains said "giant cave dick" in their native language but no one spoke. Lics wouldn't let us off the hook. "It look like something you know, ok. Maybe you just not want say?"

A little Korean boy said, "A cat's tail?" and everyone loved him. I did.

"No," said Lics, "This is what we call the dragon's member, ok, and many women try to stay behind after tour to find paradise with it. I have to make sure two times that all ladies are on the boat tonight. If you are missing, Lee will know where to find you."

It was pretty unbelievable. And got even less so.

"So," he went on,"We are in cave of mountain, but body also have cave. Who can say where in body is cave? Hmmm? Maybe you know and not want say?"

"Your nose?" said the Korean boy.

"Yes! Nose have two caves, and mouth is also cave and also elsewhere. Lady have more than men, though. Does any lady want to show me her cave?"

Nobody did, so we moved on.

"A professional tour with a knowledgeable guide," it said, "Interesting facts about Vietnam," it said.

We went then to the beach on another island. I don't like the beach, so I climbed the rock path to the top. There were stairs. My legs were shaking and I was soaking wet about two-thirds up. It was reasonably dangerous.

It got dark as I climbed and started to rain. I love the electric feel of an island rainstorm.

Worth it, though, for the unmatchable view of an alien landscape.

Made my way down as slowly as possible and holding on to the trees and the occasional rope.

Slippery tender ride back to the ship. Enormous dinner and enormous sleep afterward. Some Vietnamese Americans invited me to sing karaoke on the sun deck, but I was obliged to decline. I thought about sneaking back to the cave to worship the cat's tail, but I drifted away under a warm down comforter.