In Hanoi, I was following Lonely Planet’s guide carefully. The atmosphere when I was there several years ago was slightly intimidating. There were cops or military looking people on every street corner. I was careful where I pointed my camera. I was also uncertain about travel methods. Nobody could tell me anything. I stayed away from cyclos and motorbikes. Therefore, getting around in Hanoi consisted mostly of walking if it wasn’t too far or taking a taxi if it was.
When I left Hanoi, I decided to take a train to Hoi An. I’ve always preferred train travel to anything else. It’s usually cheaper, you get to see more, and it’s not so tiring. I’d take two days on a train to ten hours on a plane anytime.
The train from Hanoi to Hoi An was an overnight run. Foreigners could not travel by coach, but had to take a compartment. I thought this was a good deal until I realized, upon boarding, that I shared the compartment with three other people, none of whom spoke English.
Fortunately, there was plenty of interesting scenery out the window to keep me amused:
At each little station, there were vendors selling all sorts of snack items. I tried a few, but was disappointed. Since I couldn’t read anything, each package contained a little surprise. I was unable to even recognise most of the items. Even some items that looked like candy tasted like dead fish. If fact, after a while, everything tasted like fish:
By morning, I was pretty hungry. A little old woman came down the isle with a big trolley carrying a giant cauldron of vegetable soup. It was delicious; I motioned for more. She gave me a frown, but ladled it out anyway.
I noticed a guy in uniform walking up and down the isle in the dining/bar carriage who seemed to be eyeing me with suspicion. He stopped and sat down in front of me and gave me that blank look that says, “I’m waiting for you to explain yourself.”
I did what any cagey old hippy would do. I handed him a cigar (you can see him asserting possession of it). As it turned out, he was the engineer of the train. He was taking a break and checking for suspicious persons. I guess I was a standout.
He turned out to be quite friendly. He even suggested that I might return to the locomotive with him and snap some photos. We talked for a while and then he got up to leave. I started to follow him. He said, “Where are you going?” When I said I was following him to the front of the train, he said, “NO! That is forbidden!” Go figure.
After my stay in Hoi An, I decided that the train wasn’t for me. I was running out of time anyway. Taking a plane would give me an extra day in Saigon.
As I waited in the airport lounge, I took a shot at some American women travelling together. A little conversation wouldn’t hurt, I thought. I realized that I hadn’t had a genuine conversation in English for over a week. I think I frightened them, because they absolutely refused to talk to me:
I continued to gather my courage to get on a Vietnamese airliner. I had no idea what to expect. When I walked out on the tarmac and saw the plane, I thought, “That doesn’t look so bad.”
It got me safely to Saigon.
After a couple of days walking around and taking taxis again, I was tired. I must have walked a hundred miles already in Hanoi. I noticed this one cyclo driver who stuck around the entrance of my hotel. Unlike others, he never hassled me for business. I stood close by him for a few minutes and finally said something stupid like, “Nice cyclo, man.” He introduced himself and pulled out a packet of endorsements, photos, emails, and letters from probably twenty former clients. I was so impressed (and tired) that I decided to give him a try:
His name is Quang. It was the best decision I made while travelling in Vietnam. He took me anywhere that I wanted to go, day or night – at least the places he said were safe. He got me good deals on things that I bought. I know he went back for his cut later, but the prices were still better than I could haggle. He found some guys that were selling Cuban cigars for a decent price. He said that he was happy to have me for a client because I didn’t ask him to take me to prostitutes. I guess he gets a lot of that.
After the trial day, I had about four days left. I made a deal with Quang to haul me around for the next four days and paid him twice what he asked. We were both very happy with the arrangement.
Quang was one of the millions that were forced to leave the city completely deserted after the “American War” had been won. By the way, don’t bother to see it any other way while you’re in Vietnam. You’ll be all alone. He was not allowed to come back to the city for five years.
Here you can see my somewhat-less-tired feet , My Lonely Planet guide, and imagine Quang peddaling like crazy behind me:
I’d love to get back to Vietnam again someday. There’s so much that I missed.
When I’m in Saigon, I’m going to find Quang.