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,