We are now in what was North Vietnam. Traveling from Hoi An at 40 km/hr in a “sleeping” bus during the day is a new, and not the most comfortable, experience for Peter. Thinking of the South American sleeping buses, I’m thinking seats upstairs and down. The downstairs ones are fine for sleeping, but feel inclosing if traveling through the day. Therefore, when given the choice, I choose an upper “seat”.
In Vietnam, the first action on a sleeping bus is that you must remove your shoes as you get on and put them into the plastic bag provided. Remember, wear socks for stinky feet and don’t embarrass your mother by having holes in the toes. Also, the sleeping bus has upper and lower berths and you sit with your feet up, like on a lounge chair! They are also designed for Asian-built men - not your tall, sometimes overweight, white folk. Peter is not the biggest on the bus, but it is a squeeze for him to climb the ladder in the narrow aisle and attempt to get comfortable. I am feeling badly about my choice until I realize that the guys on the bottom bunks are flush with the floor. There is no way Peter would be able to get up and down in such a confined space. I also realize that # 21 seat and # 26 are the coldest on the bus. I am in #21 and have the air-conditioning outlet from both sides blowing directly at me. At the second stop, I pull my jacket from its storage space on the outside/back of my pack and my trusty cotton tie-dyed wrap from inside and swaddle myself for the rest of the journey. It is only four hours!Our first stop is fifteen minutes at Marble Mountain in Da Nang. If I had known there were caves to explore and the stop was going to be over a half an hour, I would have gotten off, but it looks like a marble knickknack place. Peter and I stay on the bus while many of the occupants rush off. The Australian group are busy buying, but one guy who appears to be their leader comes back huffing and puffing as he says he has run to the bottom of the caves and back. An experience lost. I’m sure there were lots of others we have missed along the way.
As we pass through Da Nang, I see a school with a class seated in the yard watching intently while the teacher instructs them in rifle shooting. There are three rifles propped in tripods on the ground and a picture of a man on the wall about 50 feet in front of them. Shall we lobby for rifle skills to be taught in Canadian schools? I bet many boys, and some girls, would pick that option over cooking classes.
The number 1 highway follows the ocean wherever possible, but must take a few dips inland past cliff areas. The overhead lights switch just before we enter a tunnel. It goes on and on. The good thing is that it is constructed with markers that stop passing. I’m sure there would be carnage if these poles were not in place. It is the Hai Van tunnel, opened in 2005 and 6.28 km in length. For more information view Wikipedia.
Except when going through the tunnel at 50 km/hr, we continue our slow-boat-to-Hue journey. Except when on the rise or fall of the mountain passes, the entire roadside is inhabited. I assume that is how you squeeze 87 million people into a space 1/3 the size of B.C.
Marble Mountain and some marble statues.
Peter tries to get comfortable!
Finally, we are in Hue. The bus turns off the main road onto an impossibly-narrow street and spews-out the teeming hordes, tossing luggage amongst the crowd which is now doubled by men asking “Need a taxi?” We thought the South American bus depots were a jumble. They are extremely organized in comparison. Later I realize that the people of Hue pride themselves on the safety of their city, so they don’t expect our stuff to get stolen.
Our sixty-dollar a night hotel is serious four star, right on the river, and close to the tourist downtown area. I could get used to simply walking from the taxi and having everything taken care of until I am in the room. Peter has created a monster!We wander down the street for a little lunch, across the bridge to the market where I manage to get a nail emery board for 10 cents and practise my Spanish with a stall vendor who wants to sell me something. We carry on to the supermarket - yes, a real one! - to get water, beer, and crackers, and where I have a conversation with Yen, a brightly-smiling grade 12 student who wants to practise her English. She is hoping to go to university to study economics next year. She attends school in the morning and goes back in the afternoon to study more courses outside of what is required. She says she very much appreciates the hard work of her parents which allows her to attend school. I have a new pen-pal!
We have opted to take a tour tomorrow with a private firm instead of the hotel. It is half the price and we feel it is reputable. A long day!
Not our hotel but the Morin, the old colonial relic.
Peters goes to the modern supermarket.
Our sixty-dollar a night hotel is serious four star, right on the river, and close to the tourist downtown area. I could get used to simply walking from the taxi and having everything taken care of until I am in the room. Peter has created a monster!We wander down the street for a little lunch, across the bridge to the market where I manage to get a nail emery board for 10 cents and practise my Spanish with a stall vendor who wants to sell me something. We carry on to the supermarket - yes, a real one! - to get water, beer, and crackers, and where I have a conversation with Yen, a brightly-smiling grade 12 student who wants to practise her English. She is hoping to go to university to study economics next year. She attends school in the morning and goes back in the afternoon to study more courses outside of what is required. She says she very much appreciates the hard work of her parents which allows her to attend school. I have a new pen-pal!
We have opted to take a tour tomorrow with a private firm instead of the hotel. It is half the price and we feel it is reputable. A long day!
Not our hotel but the Morin, the old colonial relic.
Peters goes to the modern supermarket.
The Perfume River.
Thursday, March 3.
We are discovering how difficult it is to understand English when you remove all the “r”s. Because of my ESL experience, I’m not too bad, but Peter is having some problems.
Making incense sticks.
We are discovering how difficult it is to understand English when you remove all the “r”s. Because of my ESL experience, I’m not too bad, but Peter is having some problems.
Making incense sticks.
Our guide, Sun, and driver arrive with a spotlessly-clean SUV at 9:30 sharp. Our tour begins with a stop at an incense-making (and tourist stuff) stall. I buy some as a gift not realizing I will need some for offerings at the temples. We carry on to the Tomb of Te Duc, the longest ruling emperor of the Nguyen dynasty who had 104 wives but no children. Our guide explains that he had had a childhood decease that left him impotent, but that he was both a poet and a scholar. There are many kilometres of tunnels under the tomb and he is buried at an unknown location within the tunnels. Sun sounds very broad of this ancestor.
The entrance to the tomb of Tu Tuc.
Where he "cried" and wrote poetry.
The entrance to the tomb of Tu Tuc.
Where he "cried" and wrote poetry.
Next we visit the Citadel and Imperial City. Built in the early 19th Century by the Emperor Gia Long. It is fashioned after Beijing’s Forbidden city. Much has been destroyed - stolen by the French the guide suggests - there is constant reconstruction. By the back gate, guards still fish in the pond. Sun says that the last, 13th, emperor was the son of the 12th emperor’s most senior mandarin and one of his wives as he was gay - didn’t like women! While in the Royal Traditional Theater, we become the oddity for two little girls visiting with their family from Hoi Chi Minh city. I manage to get a picture of the two little dolls. This is when I wish I had something Canadian to give as a gift. 
Two sweet kids from Sai Gon. Tourists like us!
Statue at the Citadel.
Peter is not allowed to use the Emperor's door.
One of the gates at the Citadel.
Peter listens to Sun's story.
Building in the Forbidden Purple City.
Two sweet kids from Sai Gon. Tourists like us!
Statue at the Citadel.
Peter is not allowed to use the Emperor's door.
One of the gates at the Citadel.
Peter listens to Sun's story.
Building in the Forbidden Purple City.
Peter is feeling a little under the weather, so after a coke while I have a small lunch, he heads back to the hotel and I carry on to the Thien Mu Pagoda. Built in 1601, it is still a religious community. The seven-tiered tower in front of the pagoda, built in 1864, is a symbol of Hue and of Vietnam. We must take incense to offer here as well. I also get to put my left hand on the stone elephant in one of the small towers and make a wish with my eyes closed. Sun is Buddhist and believes in the myths and rituals. Also, he proudly tells me that Buddhist people do not eat dog like the much disliked Chinese people do!
Consistently through Vietnam, we meet people who know we are Canadian, but who tell us of their dislike of the Chinese and French whom they say stole from the country, but their admiration of the Americans who left an infrastructure and did not steal from the Vietnamese and who helped with the reconstruction of the country. The Americans we speak to carry a sense of guilt, but the Vietnamese seem to carry no animosity. Maybe it has to do with their Buddhism belief.
Peter is feeling a little better when I return, so after a short snooze, we head out for dinner at a little courtyard restaurant I saw last night. Turns out it is part of the City Tour company we used for the tour! My duck cooked with garlic and lemongrass is the first spicy - delicious - Vietnamese food I have had. Peter has French (?) onion soup (to be noted!) and trusty grilled chicken. As in Mexico, you always get the hind quarter.
We have nothing planned for tomorrow, so, hopefully, Peter will be feeling better. He has his yawning sickness which he seems to get a couple of times a year.
The temple area of the Thien Mieu Pagoda.
A happy guardian of the pagoda - that's real human hair!
The seven tiered temple.
Our driver and Sun, our guide.
Consistently through Vietnam, we meet people who know we are Canadian, but who tell us of their dislike of the Chinese and French whom they say stole from the country, but their admiration of the Americans who left an infrastructure and did not steal from the Vietnamese and who helped with the reconstruction of the country. The Americans we speak to carry a sense of guilt, but the Vietnamese seem to carry no animosity. Maybe it has to do with their Buddhism belief.
Peter is feeling a little better when I return, so after a short snooze, we head out for dinner at a little courtyard restaurant I saw last night. Turns out it is part of the City Tour company we used for the tour! My duck cooked with garlic and lemongrass is the first spicy - delicious - Vietnamese food I have had. Peter has French (?) onion soup (to be noted!) and trusty grilled chicken. As in Mexico, you always get the hind quarter.
We have nothing planned for tomorrow, so, hopefully, Peter will be feeling better. He has his yawning sickness which he seems to get a couple of times a year.
The temple area of the Thien Mieu Pagoda.
A happy guardian of the pagoda - that's real human hair!
The seven tiered temple.
Our driver and Sun, our guide.
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