The bus journey to Dalat was a bit of an ordeal. Eight hours, two speeding fines, one puncture and a series of seat-hugging hairpin bends. The views, however, were spectacular. Dalat is delightful. I arrived late last night and found Saigon Nite, a bar with a glowing visitor book and pool-shark of an owner. He also trounced me comprehensibly at Connect 4. I left happily with low self-esteem.
Today I walked 1400 kilometres, my “Diesel” runners now broken in and my feet broken up. I learnt that “karaoke” is a euphemism for going to the toilet. I drank poo-coffee, cà phê chồn, the beans ingested and evacuated from the insides of a weasel. Every other house on the road up had large drying mats layered with coffee beans in the driveway. Life could be worse than living, drinking and working coffee. I am conducting an illicit, one-sided and highly satisfying love-affair with Vietnamese coffee.
My hike today reminded of a Sussex summer (e.g. it was fucking freezing) and verdant beyond belief. There’s a big lake (circumference: 450 km) that I trekked around, which was gratifying despite the water being the colour of mud. There’s a golf course. They make strawberry jam and sell it by the road. There are lots of domestic tourists (although unlike Sussex they’re keen to have their photos taken with the foreigners. In Eastbourne the closest the locals come to interacting with the foreign tourists is when they’re nicking their handbags.)
On my last day in Saigon I toured the Cu Chi tunnels and Holy See of Cao Daism. Cao Daism is a religion based on Taoism, Catholicism and Buddhism. They also recognise other prophets such as Mohammed, Joan of Arc, Shakespeare and Victor Hugo. I have tried long and hard to come up with a Caodaistic version of the Lord’s Prayer in French iambic pentameter, set to music. You’ll be pleased to hear I’ve given up.
We spent about an hour and a half out of the bus, five and a half hours on it. When our guide wasn’t trying to get in the pants of a Danish girl three times his size, he was talking incessantly. A typical interjection might go something like this:
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, good morning Vietnam. (Snigger) If you look out the window, you know window? Window? Yes? You know window? You see the traffic is very busy. The traffic is very busy. Out of the window(?) the traffic is busy. You know? This because many Vietnamese people, you know(?) going places. Maybe they’re going to shops, or work, or to a party, a wedding party perhaps, you know? You know wedding? Wedding, yes? So maybe a wedding party, or shops, or just going to meet friends. Maybe they have boyfriends and girlfriends, you know? Maybe just meet friends, normal friends. Not boyfriends or girlfriends. Or maybe they go to a wedding(?) party. The roads are very busy. In your countries, you know, you have roads. Roads, yes? In Vietmanmycountry we have roads but not like your country, yes? In Vietnammycountry the roads very … busy … with people going places. Maybe a wedding(?) or shops or visit boyfriend … etc”
This went on all day. Everybody was too polite to ignore him. He invited us to join him on a three-day tour of the Mekong Delta but didn’t have many takers.
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Just read Self by Yann Martel
“Travelling alone is like an extended daydream. You catch all the sights, you watch the people, you admire the scenery, all the while inventing your own company and your own scenarios, on your own time and at your own pace. It’s the only way to travel, if you can stand the regular loneliness, which often I couldn’t. But thank God there were the easy friendships of fellow travellers, friendships that lasted an hour or three days, a meal or a train ride, that were a gold-mine of travel lore and useful information, that always started with “Where are you from?’ and ended, when you felt like turning left, not right, with a simple, honest “Bye.” ”
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Bye.
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