Ha Long Bay

After our evening in Hanoi, we again got up early (in what was becoming an unwanted bad habit) and shlepped our stuff down to the Real Kangaroo Cafe where we'd booked a Halong Bay Tour on the recommendation of a guy I met in my French class back in HCMC. Kangaroo Cafe, by the way, is run by an Aussie/Vietnamese couple who seem to have run into quite a few problems with copyright infringement (for those who don't know, there is no copyright law in Vietnam so anything goes). Their cafe and website are plastered with signs telling you that yes, it is indeed the REAL Kangaroo Cafe and that no, you shouldn't trust anyone else because yes, they are all crooks. We could understand the sentiment and we went with them because of a) the recommendation, b) the prices, and c) the highly advertised fact that they don't have a bunch of unannounced add ons.

Anyway, we met up with Alun and his parents and got on the bus for the three hour drive out to the boat. The drive was pretty uneventful, but there was, of course, the obligatory stop off at a trinket shop. We held firm and decided against buying the 12 foot tall marble statues of intertwining dolphins playing with a soccer ball. Eventually, we arrived at the port, ferried out to our boat, and picked rooms. Kate and I got one of the double beds, but Alun got partnered with the other single traveler who was, much to Alun's chagrin, male. Anyway, we lunched, meeting the other passengers, then spent a couple hours cruising through the dramatic landscape, which was, despite the cloudy sky, still pretty amazing.

After a bit, we stopped off at a cave, which gave us sweeping views as we climbed to the entrance alongside about 1500 other tourists. Despite the crowds, however, the cave was definitely worthwhile. It is, firstly, huge, spanning about 5 chambers with the largest dwarfing most stadia. The stalactites and stalagmites dripped and folded, toothlike, as we wound our way through the caverns, which were once only accessed by one winding staircase. Given the current tourist influx, it would be hard to imagine going in an out of a single entry point but again, even the hordes couldn't take away from the spectacularity (which my computer tells me, despite my instincts, is actually a word) of the place.

We got back to the boat, then promptly left again, this time to do some sea kayaking. Kate and I partnered up whilst Alun - left stranded amongst the couples - found a shipmate in the form of a 13 year old Turkish boy whose father was a diplomat living in Hanoi. For those of you who have never kayaked in the sea, where you don't have the benefit of a river's current, it's hard work. After struggling to get our timing down, Kate and I finally got into a good rhythm and zipped out through the bay. The scenery was, again, amazing, but the real highlight was gliding into a little (semi)secret cove which was surrounded on all four sides by karsts and only accessible by a small tunnel under one of the limestone outcroppings. The cove itself was unbelievably serene with no noise other than that which we made. And we did, it must be admitted make some noise once we discovered the sweet spot for echoes, which had the crispest, most perfect echoes I've heard in a while.

After jumping off the boat a couple times and doing some swimming, we spent the night aboard the ship but we docked on Cat Ba island shortly after breakfast the next morning and went on a short hike through a mangrove forest to reach another cave. Not as impressive as the first, but full of creepy spiders and with a doorkeeper who taught us how to make leaves into flying missiles. We went to the main town on the island for lunch at a place called the Green Mango. Good food, but more on this place later. At the time, we left it satisfied, dropped our bags off at the hotel and relaxed for a bit, then got back on a bus, then another boat, and went out to nearby Monkey Island which did indeed have monkeys. We'd all planned on swimming but no one really wanted to get in the water what with the cold and the wind. So we watched the monkeys, climbed some rocks, and returned to our hotel for a nap.

That night, we went out in search of food. We wandered for a short while before running into Paul and Indra, an Irish-Belgic couple from our boat, who had wandered much further and found no good food options other than the Green Mango, where we had lunched. So we decided to return as the food had been quite good. The place was busy but there were empty tables. Regardless, we were told we had to wait an hour for food. We were shown to a drinks table in back and ordered drinks. We tried to get some appetizers, but they wouldn't listen to us. After about 40 minutes, we tried to order our food so it would be ready when they did move us to one of the still-open tables which we weren't allowed to sit at for some reason. They still wouldn't take our orders. Finally, they moved us to one of the tables which had been free the whole time. We tried to order immediately but were told to wait. After about 15 minutes, I got up and asked to order. They just laughed at me. At this point, we stormed out, to the applause of a couple other tables who told us that it was the worst service they'd ever had and they wished they had left as we did. So if you do go to Cat Ba, don't go to the Green Mango and tell your tour group not to either.

We eventually found a cheap little place down the road that actually wanted us to eat there so we did. Then, they apologized for closing after we'd been there for a couple hours and we all went home and went to bed. The next day was our last - we woke up to the sound of jackhammers at about 7AM as the hotel (called Princef Hotel, FYI) was renovating the floor directly above us and, despite assuring us that they wouldn't start until 10AM, they were already going. We then had breakfast on the rooftop which would have been simply substandard had it not been for the ridiculously loud jackhammering going on in the room next door. To add insult to injury, the hotel ran out of pretty much everything worth eating by about 8AM. Then, when we complained at check out, the hotel told us that we were imagining things and the work didn't start until 8:30. They also tried to keep my passport because I, at this point, refused to pay for a single water bottle I had taken from the minibar the night before. I would have paid, of course, under normal circumstances but I - and everyone else on the tour - was pretty shocked that the hotel didn't try to apologize in any way for waking us up early with construction despite assurances they wouldn't only to accuse us of lying about the hour at which it started. So that's the story of how I lost my passport, but sometimes you just gotta stick to your principles, you know?

Our moods improved on the boat trip back to the mainland as the weather had finally brightened up and we had some excellent views of the sprawling bay. Ha Long means "Rising Dragon" as the limestone islands are thought to resemble a dragon's spine protruding from the water and, while I'd have to disagree with that particular interpretation, there certainly is something magical about the place. We took turns taking pictures of ourselves and our friends (and marveled at Steve's - who is Alun's stepfather - new camera which can do pretty much everything except fly) then bid goodbye to our boat and hello to our bus. We had lunch in Hai Phong City (where the port is) at a hotel restaurant which, due to a wedding, shoved us into a little room in the back of the hotel with no windows and wires sticking out of the walls. They then gave us not enough of their less-than-delectable food which, combined with the hotel mishaps of the morning, left everyone in a pretty bad mood for the rest of the drive back. It was an unfortunate end to what was otherwise a good trip and the only advice I can give to future travelers is to not bother with Cat Ba island as it's not worth it. On a personal level, Kate and I also reaffirmed our general distaste for group tours, as it just felt like we were always rushing somewhere, had no say in what we were doing, and (with the exception of the boat itself which was quite nice) got second-rate food and service while staying in an insulated foreigner bubble.

Despite these whinings, however, we did enjoy the trip as a whole and would probably even go so far as to recommend Kangaroo Cafe as their service was good - they just don't necessarily contract with the best places in town. But it was fun and it was worth it to get out and see Ha Long Bay, one of the natural wonders of the world.

Sapa

We booked our train to Sapa pretty late - the day of, to be exact - and, as it was a Thursday night in preparation of the weekend markets in the region, the soft sleeper was unavailable. Luckily, the hard sleeper was still open and we were fine with that. Indeed, we had taken a hard sleeper from Saigon to Nha Trang some months before and it was way more comfortable than most trains we've been on. But in Vietnam, we have found, consistency is never something you can take for granted. The same meal at the same restaurant can look and taste wildly different depending on the day. The same shampoo at the same supermarket might clean well the first time but not the second. Thus it was with the trains. This hard sleeper was HARD. And filthy. But we slept some and arrived in Lao Cai at the advanced hour of 4AM, only to get on a cramped minibus which wound through the mountainous roads for another 2 hours, finally arriving at our hotel - the Luong Thuy Family Guesthouse - around 6. We had breakfast but, as it was about 8 hours too early for check in, we couldn't rest. So we went on a walk.

We wound through the waking town and found the Ham Rong mountain, which has been turned into a sort of tourist park. It was a bit odd, but a good way to kill a few hours for sure. The entrance to the park is at the top of a long flight of stairs which made us realize just how out of shape we really were after a year of Saigonese life. The park continued to wind us mostly uphill, but we battled through to wander it's various sculpted gardens - Japanese, European, the orchid gardens, check out the views...

we finally made it to the very top lookout, termed the Cloud Forest. Good views, but honestly, they had nothing on our guesthouse. The view off our balcony was spectacular (which you saw above). At least the first day and a half before it got progressively foggier and foggier until the last day when you couldn't even see the balcony's edge.

We did finally check in and napped for a few hours before wandering the town a bit more that evening, getting some food at the night market as well as some info on treks and trains back to Hanoi. We settled first on a group trek through the countryside and through some local villages as the area is renowned for - and swarming with - local hill tribes, most of whom constantly harass you with cries of "Buy from me! Buy from me!"

It can be a little much, actually, and quickly goes from charming and interesting to annoying and maddening. Thus we were quite skeptical when we left the Mountain View Hotel (where we'd booked our trek) to be greeted by about 7 Black Hmong women (the men work in the fields while the women sell to tourists). They swarmed our small group - just the two of us and two French women - and seemed like they might follow us for the whole of the 16 kilometer trek. That was, in fact, exactly what they were doing.

As it turns out, the women often come into Sapa one day, hawk their goods, then stay the night and return to their villages with the morning treks. This gives them an opportunity to talk to tourists in a more captive setting, develop bonds, help out, and eventually, yes, sell trinkets. As shady as it seems, it was far better than the

"Buy from me! Why you no buy from me?" cries echoing throughout town and, yes, we did buy from them in the end. They did, after all, help Kate down slippery slopes and make us horses and hearts from grasses they picked by the side of the road. And it's pretty amazing that they do that hike every day.

It was quite a scenic walk, winding down mountains and through valleys. We crossed a couple cable bridges with cracked slats like missing teeth - bridges straight out of Indiana Jones movies. We also finally saw the Hmong men working in the omnipresent rice paddies that covered the hills.

One of the men carried an enormous rifle that looked like it might once have belonged to Cortes or something. And then there were all the kids playing the rivers. Definitely pretty idyllic and a good way to spend a day.

The next day was reserved for the Bac Ha market. All the hill tribes in the region make the trek to Bac Ha every Saturday to sell their goods so we thought we should likewise make the trek. What we didn't realize was that it was 3 hours each way in a minibus and then 2 hours at a market which really wasn't anything special. They did have a couple interesting things, including a huge water buffalo corral/hilltop, but the majority of the market was either household goods - not, by the way, made by the locals or anything but I guess just bought by them and resold or something -

or handicrafts which were undoubtably made by local tribespeople, but bought and sold by Vietnamese entrepreneurs. The whole experience was a bit of a letdown, though we did come away with one kaleidoscopic blanket as a souvenir, in a style similar to the dress of the locals which, as you can see, is quite elaborate. And they really do wear these things - it's not just for market day or just for the tourists. Crazy. One last thing that was quite cool and an added bonus to the tour was a stop off at the Vietnam/China border crossing at Lao Cai. We got to stretch our legs and take some pictures of China, even if we didn't get to actually visit it.

We also met an Irish brother/sister traveling duo and arranged to meet up with them to watch some footie that night at a bar in Sapa. Alas, the Gunners were not televised as there have been some rights issues in Vietnam with this season's EPL, but we did still meet up for a drink. Our conversation was, however, dominated by a 17 year old Black Hmong girl named Peng.

She was in full traditional dress, but otherwise just like any normal 17 year old and quite eager to talk to us. Definitely learned a lot that night about the Black Hmong culture - how different and how similar it is. Peng, for example, has friends who were married at 13, though she said she doesn't have time for boys and wants to live outside of Vietnam. Another interesting thing was that she didn't speak much more Vietnamese than Kate or I, and her English was way better than most of our students. The Hmong language is tonally much closer to English than Vietnamese and therefore her accent was quite good. She also told us about her music tastes and talked a bit about life in her village versus life in Sapa. But we were getting tired and we had another early morning - the 4th in a row with a wakeup time before 8AM - so we bid her adieu and retired.

Then it was back on the 2 hour minibus to Lao Cai followed by a 10 hour day train back to Hanoi as all the sleepers were booked and we had to be back the next morning for yet another early morning start. The train ride was pretty rough, actually, at least the first 7 hours or so. We were for some reason booked into seats in the middle of the train - in the four seater section where you face two other people and have no leg room. This was compounded by the fact that the people opposite our seats were bringing back huge bales of something which took up any and all leg room. We didn't even bother with those seats but sat behind. Only problem was, everyone kept making us move even though there were always other open seats on the train. So frustrating!

We ended up moving about 6 times with the last time finally being in a good spot. Everyone in Saigon had warned us that the folk up north weren't as friendly but the guys sitting behind us were ridiculously so. They kept offering us things to eat and drink and wouldn't take no for an answer. There was beer, peanut brittle, cookies, and steamed corn. One guy in particular was feeling pretty chatty and, though he spoke no English, we were able to communicate our ages, family status, jobs, and he told us about his children. Speaking of children, there was also a little girl sitting in front of us here who was extremely interested in us. She was really cute and just wanted to play, so we obliged and she kept us busy for the last couple hours of the trip. Then, finally, we got to Hanoi, which you already read about in Hanoi Part Deux.

Hanoi

Travel blogging time. Though our trip to Hanoi was broken up into three and a half chunks, we'll talk about it all together for the ease and pleasure of you, dear readers.

Hanoi Part One began on the evening of October 20th, about 6 hours later than intended thanks to flight delays. We were lucky enough to get a call from Jetstar telling us our flight had been delayed 3 hours while we were still at Miss Loi's in Saigon. A three hour delay sucks, but hey - fair warning. We got to have a leisurely lunch with our friend, Mr. Dan Almon(d), who, if he is reading this, has just lost. Anyway, we then went to the airport where we informed of another 2 hour delay. And then the flight was just late in leaving as well. But we made it, then we checked into the Rendezvous Hotel where we had booked two dorm beds only to be told that they had already given away all the dorm beds. Typical. They did, however, offer us a private room at no extra cost. Untypical. So we checked in, had a bowl of street pho (which isn't as good as the stuff in the south, by the way) and went to bed.

The next morning started off well with a huge free breakfast beneath handpainted replica movie posters of any and every film about the Vietnam/American War. Odd decorating tastes, but whatever. We then set off to buy us a train ticket to Sapa, which was accomplished with relative ease. They were, unfortunately, out of soft sleepers but we did manage to snag a hard sleeper, which we had found more than adequate before when we took an overnight train from Saigon to Nha Trang. After booking, we had lunch at the tasty La Place by the permanently closed cathedral, then walked around the city, checking out a temple, a pavilion, and taking a nice stroll around Hoan Kiem Lake, or the Lake of the Returned Sword.

Legend has it that emperor Ly Thai To was given a magical sword to defeat the oppressive Chinese overlords (a phrase, incidentally, which I've been wanting to use for quite some time) and, when he was finished with it, emperor 'To gave the sword back to the gods via a giant tortoise which took it to the depths of the lake. We did the full circuit of the lake, ending at the Ngoc Son Temple where we crossed a very picturesque red bridge to get into the complex. The temple itself was nothing special, but the views were quite nice and the enormous preserved tortoise illustrating the size of the creatures which some people apparently believe are actually myths despite the photographic and physical evidence.

After putting a deposit on our trip to Halong Bay - which is a story for another blog - we boarded our train at a run as we thought it left 10 minutes later than it did, and settled in for the night journey to Sapa - also another story.

Hanoi Part Deux was a quick one, only worth mentioning for two things: the discovery of a delicious (though still not as good as that in Saigon) pho place on Luong Van Cam across from the Lego store and our hostel, which was Hanoi Central Backpackers hostel. It's a nice enough place for a good price ($5/night for a dorm bed) but it was made that much sweeter by the fact that through a mistake in the system, we booked the beds for a mind-bogglingly low 1 cent/person/night. They honored the price in the end and we checked out, then met up with our friend Alun from Saigon and his parents who were in town for the trip to Halong Bay.

Hanoi Part Tres began after arriving back from our Halong Bay trip. We checked back into the Central Backpacker's Hostel (where we had booked another 3 nights at 1 cent), got some more pho, then saw a water puppets show which was good value and fun, though definitely would have benefitted from opera-style super-titles in English as we had absolutely no idea what was going on during the show. We spent the next morning trying to book a bus to Laos. We probably went to about 10 different travel agencies - all claiming to be the real Sinh Cafe - and all of them showed us the same pictures of the same nice bus with full beds and bathrooms, which were key on a 23 hour journey. We booked with the cheapest one then went back to La Place for lunch and old propaganda poster shopping with Alun and his parents after which we bid them goodbye and discussed our plans for the next couple days.

The next morning, we got going relatively early to rent a motorbike, which was more difficult than it should have been. An hour or so later, we were finally in possession of a vehicle and took off, zipping through the calm, peaceful traffic, probably making people angry for driving like those unruly southerners. First stop was the Ho Chi Minh Museum, which was beautifully done and incredibly uninformative. We spent an hour and a half there and the only thing we learned was that he died in 1969 of something that we think may have been stomach cancer. The problem was that the museum was largely just collections of documents and artistic displays with almost no background information. So unless you had years to spare in study of the collective reams of paperwork - or were a Vietnamese citizen or war buff who already had a good idea of who the man was - the museum was pretty much just something to wander aimlessly through, occasionally stopping to gape at the odd photos the Vietnamese tourists were taking, such as the girl who kept posing with various kissy faces in front of the absurdly large fruit bowl.

After checking out the decidedly disappointing and slightly nausea-inducing-pond of the One Pillar Pagoda, we got told off for getting within about 500 meters of Uncle Ho's Mausoleum as you must respect the lines on the ground even though his body (embalmed and displayed against his explicit wishes, I might add) was absent and the mausoleum was closed for maintenance. Having had enough of Vietnam's national hero, Kate finally - after a year and a half of wearing broken glasses with me pestering her for months to get some new ones - decided to get some new glasses. She picked some out at an optometrist who had them ready within an hour and charged about $30 for the frames including the prescription lenses. Having perfect vision (not to mention physique, hair, teeth, mental agility, and, of course, hands) myself, I have no reference on the matter but am told this is an extremely good bargain.

Next stop was lunch at the delicious Koto's, where they take street kids and train them up to speak English, be waiters, and make delicious food like pumpkin soup with yogurt, coriander chicken wraps, grilled vegetable paninis, falafel pitas, and carrot cakes. Mmm. We went back the next day too. We chose Koto's for lunch, however, due to its serendipitous location across the street from the Temple of Literature, one of the oldest sites in Hanoi and the first university of Vietnam, dating back almost until the city's founding 1000 years ago. It was quite a pleasant place to wander through, stopping to stroke the massive stone heads of the tortoises which supported giant stelae inscribed with graduating scholars' names from the past 700 years. We didn't go back the next day, though maybe we should have because when we were at Koto's we saw that the Russian president was in town with his bodyguard, touring the temple whilst we dined.

We did zip over on the motorbike for one last bit of sightseeing at the National Museum, though we only had 25 minutes to race through the grand villa before it closed. Still enough time to marvel at the wonders and work up an appetite, which was quenched - at quite a pretty penny, I might add - at a little seafood restaurant past the French quarter which looked like it would be cheap with plastic servings and the such. The giveaway was that there were no prices on the menu but, having already sat down, we ordered and prayed for the best. The food was delicious and it had this awesome little communist napkin holder, but the bill was about 4 times what we'd hoped it would be. Over dinner, we discussed our next step, then decided to race home to book some flights from Laos down to Kuala Lumpur but AirAsia wouldn't take our booking no matter how many times we tried. We later found out this was actually our bank's fault as they'd for some reason only just realized that we were in Asia and blocked the card for the first time in 14 months of living out here. So strange. It was an extremely frustrating couple hours spent madly clicking and swearing and the night was only salvaged by Arsenal's defeat of West Ham in the 87th minute which we watched at the Hanoi incarnation of Le Pub, a Saigonese stalwart.

The next day was to be our last in Vietnam so what more fitting than to visit the Museum of the Revolution and the Hanoi Hilton prison, right? The Museum of the Revolution followed the same mold as that of Uncle Ho's, though the documents and descriptions were slightly better. It also had the added bonus of having captured military vehicles out front as well as a massive sculpture made from downed US aircraft which was really cool as an art piece but quite disturbing at the same time (especially due to the bloated body of a dead rat at its base!), what with all the propagandistic talk of praising heros for killing American devils and the such. The Vietnamese (government, at least) has absolutely no regrets about the war, which is quite odd coming from an American point of view. Because of this, however, there is no shame about killing or torturing Americans (though they would never admit to torturing, of course) and there is this weird attitude that the atrocities of the war should be celebrated. This was further evidenced at the Hanoi Hilton where you first walk through a long exhibit talking about how awful the prison was when the French ran it against the Vietnamese revolutionaries who heroically bombed hotels and poisoned massive groups of people... and how nice and clean and perfect it was when the Vietnamese took it over to run as a prison camp for American POWs during the war. The problem with all this is that it's obviously slanted to a certain point of view and, while they may even be 100% correct in their information, coming from a Western upbringing which is cynical of government propaganda, it only served to make us doubt everything that was said. Does that kind of blatant propaganda work on anyone, I wonder? Perhaps the Vietnamese government should hire outside PR firms or something to make its propaganda more subtle and insidious, like the US does.

After that, it was time to head home, shower, and prepare for our grueling 23 hour bus ride to Vientiane, the capital of Laos. We got to our travel agent at the appointed time only to be told we were late and rushed onto a minibus to the bus station where we found that we - and everyone else on the minibus who had all booked with different Sinh Cafe wannabes - had been horribly lied to and not only did our bus not have real beds like in the pictures but it also didn't have bathrooms. At this point, we had just been in Vietnam too long to put up with this kind of crap anymore, and we had the advantage of time and a cell phone so we called the travel agent up and yelled at them until they agreed to give us a full refund on the bus. I kind of felt like a wuss of a traveler, but I really don't think I would have minded the bus much at all if it had been accurately sold. As it was, that travel agency will definitely think twice about lying to future tourists as they had to eat about $56 worth of tickets that night.

Thus began Hanoi Part 3.5. We checked back into our trusty Central Backpacker's Hostel and downed some of the nightly free beer, swapping stories with a Brazilian and a couple Germans. Then we debated sucking up the bus ride but, by that point, we were kind of over the hassle of travel - especially because of all the time spent in transit during the gaps between Hanoi Parts One, Deux, and Tres so we just booked a flight to Bangkok and decided to get to the beach...

Returning to the Road

So, it's been a while.

That's our fault, though more a consequence of our situation; more specifically, we were living and working in Ho Chi Minh City, which means that we were, for all intensive purposes, living a normal life, albeit in a land far, far away. But despite the ridiculous traffic and strange ways, we quickly fell into what most would consider a rather uneventful, workaday existence that would only have interested the most devout followers of our lives and/or lovers of the mundane.

But now, writing this as we are sitting in the Tan Nhat aiport, our time in Saigon is over and we've gone nearly a year without a blog post. During the course of those 350 or so days, we have, like anyone living anywhere, compiled enough experiences to interest people other than our parents and, thusly, this blog post - after months of nurturing gestation - is ready to plop squealing out of the metaphorical womb, covered in viscous fluids, to announce to the world that yes, we are alive and yes, these things happened.

This will be done in stages, because a) we're far too lazy to write it all at once and b) you're probably not interested in reading a 20 page short story detailing our experiences. Actually, a short story could be kinda cool. Let's see how far we get, shall we?

...

We actually got quite far and have the short story but it spiraled a bit out of control and requires more pictures once we get back to Saigon so we'll leave you hanging on that one for now. In the meantime, let's get back into the travel blogging with a bit about our post-HCMC sojourn thus far.

Kate and I left Saigon on October 20th after nearly 14 months in the city, during which time we'd seen a bit of the south and the middle of Vietnam but never the north. Accordingly, we flew straight up to Hanoi, the capital, which happened to be in the midst of it's 1000th anniversary of existence.

We came into Hanoi with mixed feelings, mostly because we've been a bit bummed out about our choice to live in Saigon as it is, despite it's charms, a big dirty city. Hanoi, we had heard, was much more beautiful. We had also heard - and these are the things that kept us from living in Hanoi - that it had crazier traffic, worse weather, and everything closed early. So let's report on those first.

The traffic in Hanoi is much, much, much LESS hectic than it's southern counterpart. Almost infinitely so. True, the bikes still look a bit threatening, but it's more of a gentle stream than a raging river of mounted traffic. Even in the city center at rush hour, it never gets worse than, say, late morning in a quiet part of Saigon.

Anyone who thinks that Hanoian traffic is worse than Saigonese has either never been to Saigon or... I actually can't finish that sentence. It's just much more chilled out up north. I will say, however, that the drivers feel slightly more dangerous just because they drive more like Western drivers; that is, they don't swerve casually around everything the way that drivers in Saigon do. Similarly, they actually stop at lights, don't cut you off, and generally stay on their side of the road.

The weather here has been pretty ideal. Warm, even a bit chilly at night, but not at all sweltering or freezing as we'd been led to believe. It turns out that we arrived in the midst of a nice spell during the best season to visit, so it isn't really a fair portrayal and I can definitely say that the mosquitos are much more aggressive in Hanoi than Saigon.

And this is supposed to be the shoulder season for mosquitos too so it might well be fairly miserable at other times of the year. At the moment, however, it's extremely nice not to soak our clothes through with sweat every time we leave the house.

As far as things closing early... well, that's true. Most places in Saigon close fairly early but there are definitely all night joints and many places that will stay open until 1 or 2 in the morning. In Hanoi, everything closes by midnight.

And many places close earlier. I'm guessing that if you lived here, you'd find the places that stay open later, but for the visitor, it's definitely an early city.

So are we bitter about choosing the wrong big city? Slightly, but I don't think that Hanoi is a cure-all for the Saigon blues. Many of the same problems we had with Saigon are still problems up here and many of the things we enjoyed about Saigon are harder to find in Hanoi.

A quick comparison shows us the same:

Traffic - advantage Hanoi

Weather - advantage probably Saigon

Nightlife - advantage Saigon

Food - advantage Saigon

Culture - advantage Hanoi

Travel opportunities - advantage Saigon

Air quality - advantage Hanoi

Cost of living - advantage Saigon

Friendliness of people - split

More on the friendliness later. But I think that's enough for now.

We are back to blogging. And with a vengeance.

Now let's back up a couple months to our arrival in Vietnam. If memory (and indisputable fact) serves me, our last post was on the rigors of our grueling CELTA course. Well, our time on the CELTA wasn't all work and no play. Au contraire (that means, "to the contrary"), the students planned a day trip for all of the trainees on the second Saturday of the course. They prepared a lengthy itinerary with a start time at the fiendishly early hour of 8AM, which is roughly equivalent to a Western noon here in Vietnam as everyone seems to get up around 5AM (this is not at all hyperbole, by the way).

Suffice to say, none of us sane folk were too keen to rise and shine at that most unholy hour on our day off so we hemmed, hawed, and hacked our way to a mutual understanding: we would skip the Reunification Palace segment and meet after. And thus it came to pass that we found ourselves at the wholly reasonable and respectable hour of 11:30AM outside of said Palace where we met the students and melded into a single unit - a bike gang of the most innocent variety. But the Heaven's Angels almost could not ride for, you see, helmets here are the law and we were two helmets short. Kate and myself, being the chivalrous duo that we are, offered to buy the missing helmets after an unsuccessful soiree to pick some up. And while we figured out the logistics of who would borrow who's helmet to buy more, Tien, our fearless leader, snapped up two used helmets from a motortaxi (xe om) driver for 90,000 dong, or about $5.70.

Now… now we were ready. We paired up and began the perilous trek out of the city center. And about 5 minutes later we were lost. Later, we discovered that of the 8 students driving us, only 2 knew the way. Difficult at the best of times and damn near impossible when one is trying to navigate through swarming seas of motorbikes. Several phone calls and missed turns later, we did eventually arrive at our destination - an enormous restaurant (all of them seem to be here) with a gigantic terrace about 45 minutes outside of the city. The students ordered all the food off the strictly Vietnamese menu and we dined on a veritable cornucopia of comestibles, including the delectably delicious Sour Soup, made with a whole river fish, chunks of pineapple, and a healthy selection of local vegetables.

Post-chow, we motto'd on over to the nearby One-Pillar Pagoda, modeled after the pagoda of the same name in Hanoi. As you might expect, the pagoda does, indeed, rest suspended on a single pillar which juts out of a lake filled with tiny turtles. But there is more to the complex than just the pagoda and we spent an hour or so wandering through the various Buddhist temples and shrines, leaving smoking incense to carry on our prayers. Amongst the worldly delights of the cloister was an ancient looking tree with beautiful flowers right outside a chapel warning against a less-than-holy life through graphic and actually quite disturbing images of torture in a hell much bloodier than anything Dante imagined.

But our quiet sanctuary would not last for long - nay, we were soon back on the bikes and once again got lost on our way to a cafe where we hydrated, chatted, and relaxed before the dusty trip back into the city, which fortunately was much faster now that we knew the way.

Our next bit of extra-scholastic fun arrived on the last day of the four-week CELTA, which is a day reserved for make-ups though, as no one in our course missed any lessons, it became a day reserved for partying. We'd been forewarned by the trainers that we would most likely be kidnapped by the students and smuggled away to a place where we would be forced to drink coffee and sing songs - the infamous and ubiquitous karaoke bars - but, thankfully, the students left the kidnapping kit at home and instead put on a variety show.

After an hour or so of taking pictures in as many configurations as possible, we settled into our seats as the students passed around grapes, sour mango, lychee, and moon cake (which does not, as I was sorely disappointed to learn, contain any mooncheese whatsoever). Once we were all fed and the braver of us were watered, the show began. The first play was a touching story of unrequited love, and the second, a masterpiece entitled Dangerous Milk, about a doctor who tells a drunk that he must give up wine and instead drink milk. At first, the drunk hesitates, convinced - quite rightfully so, I might add - of the dangerous side-effects of milk and is only turned when his buxom wife presents a creative solution.

After the plays, the students and several CELTA trainees sang songs including a rather impressive and impassioned rendition of Frank Sinatra's seminal 1969 tune, "I Did it My Way," and then we headed to lunch. The plays were mostly performed by the intermediate students with more English, so it was the elementary students who took us out to eat. We were a tad uncertain that we could find a restaurant nearby to seat 30, but as we should have known, that is no problem in this city. We ended up in a huge Bahn Xeo place, or Vietnamese rice pancake, place. Think crepes meet lettuce wraps. Again, the students ordered everything, taught us how to eat it, and one woman took the responsibility of the hostess and served us as well. Towards the end when we were all stuffed but with plates of food still left on the table, several of the ladies began wrapping them (they were much more skilled than us) and sweetly forcing them on anyone who would take them. At the end of lunch we were presented with a giant jello cake which, as I can personally attest to, does not bounce, no matter how hard you throw it.

That officially ended the course (well, that and the overpriced but fun dinner and drinks that followed) but that wasn't to be the last time we saw our students. Nay, the Sunday after the course, the students arranged another outing for us - to the Cu Chi tunnels. We couldn't get out of the 8AM start this time around so we sucked it up and bordered the chartered bus for the two hour ride out to Cu Chi. Though some of us may have been more interested in sleeping, the students would have none such shenanigans and quizzed us with riddles and games complete with candy prizes.

We arrived after ten to the the Cu Chi complex, a tropical forest crisscrossed with paths leading to various points of interest, including a short video about the tunnels made in 1967, at the height of the American War, as they rightfully call it here. The propaganda was a bit heavy handed but the video was incredibly interesting to watch as both a historical artifact. It was at times a little uncomfortable, as Americans sitting next to Vietnamese students, to watch a video of our forebears slaughtering each other but the day only seemed to reinforce what we had heard previously - that the Vietnamese look forward and don't dwell on the past.

The students helped translate the general details about the tunnels before we entered the underground world itself. First up was a short (10 meter long) tunnel, which was good to start with as a few people couldn't take the claustrophobia and backed out immediately. The hardier amongst us really didn't think the tunnels were too bad, especially as they've been expanded several times to accommodate visitors. The next tunnel we went into was significantly longer with a stop near the beginning at a meeting hall filled with creepy mannequins. After that stop, however, a long, twisting, turning crawl deposited us near the hospital ward, also with creepy mannequins. As part of the tour we were treated to a typical meal of cassava dipped in ground peanuts and tea (much needed nourishment as we hadn't had time to grab breakfast) and then shown through the homemade weapons museum, which was filled with hidden death traps, spiky bombs, and all other sorts of creatively evil (my favorite type of evil, by the way) weapons.

The tough stuff behind us, we then retired to the nearby restaurant on a barge with a thankful, lazy breeze that gave us the opportunity to watch heaps of water plants floating by while we gorged on more (much needed) delicious Vietnamese food. This was, of course, right before we went to the firing range where, for a dollar a bullet with a five bullet minimum, you can shoot pretty much any gun you could find in the Vietnam War. But it felt a little wrong so we both abstained and after finding out that battle weapons are really, really, really loud, we got back on the bus and dozed our way back to the City (of Ho Chi Minh)...

CELTA

First off, apologies for the inexcusable lack of postage over the past couple weeks. But we are back. And with a vengeance.

Now, as many of you, our dear readers, know, we came to Vietnam to get our CELTA certifications and learn how to teach English as a second language. Briefly: CELTA, or Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults, is an internationally recognized certification bestowed by Cambridge University. It is the most widely accepted qualification for teaching English, followed closely by the TESOL (run by Trinity College, London), with the various TEFL certifications having less weight as they have no standardizing organization.

We decided to do the CELTA at ILA in Vietnam for a couple reasons; 1) we'd been told that Vietnam is one of the best places to teach English and 2) ILA had the cheapest CELTA course that we could find anywhere in the world so 3) it seemed like a good fit. And it was.

That's not to say, however, that the CELTA is anything other than extremely demanding. It's not so much difficult as all-consuming; indeed, we were in class from 9AM-5PM every day and usually had to get there an hour early and stay a couple hours late to do some lesson planning… and then, once home, there was always more lesson planning to be done. Not to mention the written assignments we had to turn in every week. So very, very intense. And we were thrown right into it, having to teach a lesson on our second day of class, then more lessons every other day for the duration of the course. With each lesson, we were also expected to do better than the one before… so that meant that the grading was much more difficult with each and every lesson.

There were lots of other expectations as well, including a strict dress code. Teachers in Vietnam are highly respected and, as such, we have to look professional - guys had to wear ties every day and girls... well, they were supposed to dress up, but they got away with a lot more. Us guys were also allowed to have facial hair, but it had to be trimmed neatly, which led to some pretty ridiculous mustachioed looks for me, such as the one you see here at our favorite little lunch spot around the corner from the school.

We taught three levels - elementary, pre-intermediate, and intermediate - rotating through the classes every week or so until we had all taught three classes at every level. I think I had the toughest schedule as I began with the elementary learners and worked up to the intermediates. What was difficult about this one was that the elementary students have less English so the early classes have to be better and by the time we got to the intermediate level, they were doing more complex grammar which is also hard to teach. Kate, on the other hand, began with the intermediates and finished with the pre-intermediates.

Every level was filled with students who pay a deposit and have to attend a certain percentage of the classes to get their fees back. And not that I have anything else to compare them against, but from my limited experience, I think the Vietnamese students must be amongst the best in the world. They were all so eager to learn and participate and so curious as to our backgrounds but not at all disruptive. And they organized several outings for us, but that's a story for another blog.

San Diego

We came back to the States knowing it would be but a temporary jaunt into the Fatherland, just long enough to see some family, chide our friends for not reading our blogs, and renew our passports. We'd actually planned on just spending about a month in San Diego but, once that sweet, So Cal summer air hit our dangerously-exposed-to-H1N1 skins, we knew that a month just wouldn't be enough.

So we got some jobs. Well, sort of. For part of the time. Within our first week back, we both interviewed for temp jobs with AppleOne, America's least effective temp agency. After an hour and a half of pre-interview tasks, I breezed through my interview in about 3 minutes, only to find that another 2 hours of post-interview aptitude tests awaited me. Kate had a very similar reception, though I believe she got about 10 minutes on her interview. Not to mention a few days of paid work at the San Diego Comic Con. Indeed, Kate even managed to sneak me in for a few hours and I got to wander around amongst the most awkward people in the entire world. It was awesome. The costumes were amazing and there were some crazy toys in there, like the Mindflex game where you control a little ball using only the power of your MIND. We also got some cool free schwag, like a Live Long and Prosper giant foam hand. So not a bad job, though AppleOne didn't really come through for either Kate nor I again.

Despite my apparent lack of personableness, however, I did manage to secure a more interesting, rewarding, and steady job than Kate - through my mom. For those of you who don't know, my mom - who you may remember from Egypt or Peru - is a speech and language pathologist who works with special needs kids at Patrick Henry High School in addition to running the local branch of Circle of Friends, a social skills program for teens and young adults with disabilities. Through this (admittedly biased) connection, I was introduced to one of her former students, Will Hammer, and his mother, Liz, who hired me as Will's aide for a summer school course. I took notes, helped Will study, and drove him to and from a music appreciation class at Grossmont College. Solid professor, interesting class, and good to meet and befriend Will.

But if you think work was all we did over the summer, you obviously weren't in San Diego. I don't even know how to sum up the intense chilling that was going down through those few short months. Lots of Risk: The Game of World Domination™ was played, beaches were conquered, bands of friends from both San Diego and Los Angeles were seen, kickball was oft-repeated, FIFA 09 was learned, IRONMAN was amazing, and burritos were devoured. Suffice to say, it was largely all our old friends who made it such an awesome summer, so I'll just take a moment to recognize (in alphabetical order) Allison, Asher, Avi, Brian, Denise, Derek, Elliot, Gabe, Gabriel, Ilan, Keith, Lannice, Lauren, Mike P, Mike K, Morty, Nate, Nissa, Richard, Rosanna, Sam C, Sam K, Sean, Tony, and the others I've forgotten. I even reconnected with an old friend of mine from high school, Derek Pickern, who now has a two year old daughter. So weird for me.

And that's just San Diego. We also made it up north for a weekend in the Bay Area to go to the wedding of a friend of mine from film school by the name of Elaine. The wedding invite called for semi-formal attire, Art Deco encouraged. So Kate and I spent some time trying to figure out what to wear, settling on a three piece suit for myself and a cocktail dress with shoe clips and a feathered hat for her. Another film school friend, Elliot, and his girlfriend, Catherine, also went for the retro look… but we were pretty much the only four. Indeed, most of the attendants were in what could be described as business casual, with an emphasis on the casual. Probably smart, given that it was about 104 degrees outside, but definitely not particularly snazzy. Consequently, the four of us were in about 80% of the wedding photos, with Kate's hat even being borrowed to provide a backdrop for the rings photo. Definitely good to meet up with the old filmies, including Regina and Taneisha, again...

Now the wedding was in San Jose but we stayed with my sister Laurel in Berkeley and hung out with her and her boyfriend, Marcelo, for a night and a day, grabbing some tasty Mediterranean food and hitting up a farmer's market before the wedding. The day after, we met up with my old friend Brian and went to Thai brunch at a Thai Buddhist temple. So delicious - you just eat wherever you want in the neighborhood and wash it down with some Thai iced tea and some mango and sticky rice for dessert. Then you wash all that down with some beer while watching the US valiantly try to defeat Brazil but eventually losing pretty horribly in the Confederations Cup final.

It was good to see the sis and we also got to see some family a bit more locally with a few visits to see the grandparents, including a few milestones. My grandfather Sidney, aka Pop-Pop, turned 94, my grandmother Charlotte turned 91, and Pop-Pop and Granny (Sylvia) celebrated their 69th wedding anniversary. We also got some tips on Vietnam from my traveling aunt Marsha and discussed Entourage and The Hills with my uncle Al. My mom's other sister, Neetie, came out for a weekend so we got to catch up with her, as well as see my mom's cousin Margie right before we left. Oh, and we spent a lot of time with my parents, though I'm sure they'd tell you otherwise.

One thing they can't deny is that we ransacked their garage to help them sort through the mountains of stuff that have to disappear if they're going to get a couple cars in the garage. Some of that stuff is ours that we're storing… but most of it is their's that's just, well, there. But not nearly as much of it is there now as before we hit town, thanks to effective persuasive methods learned from Rosanna. We were able to get it rid of it partly by introducing the 'rents to the wonders of craigslist… but mostly by the fact that they already knew about the wonders of the Salvation Army.

So much more. Sushi nights, 5 foot snakes in the backyard, two Padres games, concerts, a trip to the World Famous San Diego Zoo, IMAX adventures, movies watched, and bars sampled (especially the Triple Crown Pub, which I can whole-heartedly recommend to anyone who likes bar games and good times). Somehow, despite our 12 weeks in San Diego - by far the longest we've spent in any one place in the past 2 years - the summer came to a conclusion before we'd even realized what had happened. We still managed to forget to do so many things and scrambled together in the last few days to put everything together for our bid to become certified English teachers. But get it together we did and we bid San Diego, the US, and all therein adieu as we boarded the plane that fateful Wednesday morning in September and set out for the next adventure: Vietnam.