Dalat City

After an excellent nights sleep in a comfortable bed, we were up early to investigate the city.

We arranged a motorbike rental through the front desk at Dalat Hotel du Parc and within 10 minutes our ride for the next few days was delivered. We agreed on D80,000 (around NZ$5) per day and set off into the market area to find some breakfast.

A street cafe was serving up bowls of Pho so we had a couple of chicken ones with a coffee – D70,000 for the lot.

We only had the Lonely Planet and a map from the hotel to work off and as I was concentrating on trying not to get us killed, Jo was the tour guide and navigator.

Hang Nga Crazy House was the first stop – it is well named. Located just a few blocks from our hotel, the land area would be no more than 50 metres by 50 metres, but inside is a labyrinth of plaster and concrete pathways and bridges that link themed guest rooms. We got lost or accidentally doubled back more than once. Amongst the maze was the Kangaroo Room featuring a larger than life kangaroo with red lights for eyes. The beds in all the rooms were all rounded or reshaped to fit within the walls – none of which were straight. Off the sides of the pathways were small caverns where small tables and chairs waited for someone to need a drinks break. The gardens were random also and one of the features was a spiders web made of wire of varying thickness.

Our next stop was the Summer Palace of Bao Dai – the ex King of Vietnam. It really wasn’t overly exciting but the tacky features outside were worth a mention. Flowers arranged in heart shapes, young guys dressed in animal costumes and plaster elephants all waiting for their Kodak moments. Needless to say you won’t be seeing them here.

The Lonely Planet mentions very little about the cable car that was marked on the hotel map. We finally found a little bit of information on Tuyen Lam Lake – the destination of the cable car once we’d been on board for a few minutes wondering where we were going. The 2.3 kilometre cable car (gondola) travels over the top of the trees and vegetable patches in the Dalat Highlands. What neither of our guides mentioned much about was the fantastic Truc Lam Pagoda, an apparently still fully functional series of temples, pagodas and beautifully manicured gardens where monks walk amongst the tourists. We walked down from the pagoda on the hill to the lake that was created by a dam in 1980. We skipped the tour boats and stopped for a beer at a small shop where the entertainment was provided by the owners young kid who spent his time being a nuisance. We found out on the walk back up the hill that the cable car was closed for lunch from 1130 until 1330, as our bike was three kilometres away we had to wait or get a taxi back. We weren’t too upset and were rather enjoying the silence of the Truc Lam Pagoda. I took plenty of photos and we stopped for a basic lunch of pork and chicken with rice.

Four kilometres further out from the gondola is Datanla Waterfall, a nice spot made all the better by the means of access. For D40,000 (NZ$2.75) each, on top of the waterfall admission of D10,000, we rode a bobsled down to it. The sleds were not unlike the Rotorua or Queenstown luges in that they are gravity driven and the driver controls the braking, although these ones rode on tracks like a rollercoaster. I finished the ride with yells of “Again, again!”

We headed back into Dalat and Jo expertly found our way to the Train Station, now only used for tourist trips to a nearby village. It was a neat little place and the old engines and carriages out the back were crying for something to do.

I was keen to see the Dalat Nuclear Plant that was marked on the hotel map but it was very unassuming, we actually overshot it and went a good two or three kilometres past it before realising we must have done something wrong.

As the sun threatened to set, we past the University area and its thousands of mad bike riders. We finished the day at Linh Son Pagoda but after having such a great time at Truc Lam Pagoda earlier in the day we were a bit pagoda’d out so probably didn’t give it the time it deserved.

Back at the hotel we were approached by a member of Dalat Easy Riders, an apparently loosely affiliated group of motorbike tour guides that we’d seen about on our travels around the city. As our flight back to Ho Chi Minh City was not until 1600 the following day we agreed to a Highlands Countryside tour at US$35. Jo would ride two-up with our guide Son and I’d ride the rental. We tentatively handed over a deposit of D200,000 (around NZ$15) after seeing his book where other travellers had written their prices and deposit amounts. We’d be made aware of whether we’d just blown the money at 0730 the following morning.

We jumped back on the bike and went to Trong Dong Restaurant – a Lonely Planet recommendation. The whole meal was the best we’d had in Vietnam. The starters were a shrimp paste on sugarcane that we made rice paper rolls out of with lettuce, cucumber, carrot and radish. These were followed by pork and shrimp toast, basically pork medallions with shrimps, fried in a bread outer. The mains were equally as good – I had a flavoursome chilli and lemongrass rabbit and Jo has squid stuffed with pork mince and herbs. Sensational. The staff were super friendly and the girl chatted with us for a while before helping me find the lights on the motorbike.

It had been a fantastic day with plenty to do and a superb meal to finish. We went to bed early again in anticipation of seeing more of the highlands area the next morning. Dalat was a beautiful and comparatively quiet place compared to the other cities we’d been in Vietnam. We wanted to see more before we hit the noise and smog of HCMC.

Panic Stations

If it all went well, we were in for a long day indeed.

We still had two dives – deep water and underwater photography – to complete to get our Advanced Diving Certificates. We then had to be on a bus to Dalat by 1400. The boat usually arrived back at the dock in Nha Trang somewhere between 1230 and 1330 and there were still another five or six kilometres to get to the bus station. It was going to be tight but the reward of effectively gaining half a day was worth the risk.

Breakfast was bacon sandwiches from the hotel buffet and I used the time to answer the theory questions we needed to have completed prior to our two dives. The deep water dive had me worried – I’m far from a natural in the water and when you dive to anything over 18 metres a safety stop is required at 5 metres prior to surfacing. If anything went wrong you couldn’t just safely head to the surface. The theory basically outlined the many ways you can die or be badly injured.

We packed our backpacks, checked out of the Happy Light and walked to Sailing Club Divers. As per usual in the mornings the manager, Simon, was playing the Top Gear Vietnam Special and it was nice to put some of the places the lads visited into a wider context. We recognised some of the locations they visited and could visualise what was just out of frame. One of the things we recognised in frame was one of the instructors standing in the background of a shot at Sailing Club when Hammond is presented with his galleon.

We had 14 people on the dive boat – the most in the three days diving we had in Nha Trang and for the first time one couple was late to arrive. The bus to Dalat was looking unlikely from the start.

On the way out to the first dive spot, Small Wall, Hannah reiterated the ways we could die but approved of our theory answers. We kitted up and were ready to go in first. The boat was going to drop us off and head to another spot for the other divers and snorkellers to enter from. We were to swim back to it.

We went down to 22 metres straight away and as I hit the bottom I had a panic attack of sorts. One of the many issues with deep diving is Nitrogen Narcosis – a chemical imbalance that basically makes you drunk under water. I had enough presence of mind to ascertain this was not the problem as the voices in my head were telling me not to be such a wuss. I wanted to surface more than anything I’ve ever wanted to do before, my breathing was rushed and I was scared. I’ve raced rally cars and love paragliding but the thrill they give me was nothing compared to the fear I was feeling. After three or four minutes of kneeling on the sandy ocean floor, I gave myself a mental upper-cut and talked myself around. I was still scared but trying to breathe normally; I’d also talked myself out of surfacing.

We did a couple of exercises, one was cracking an egg. The white broke up but the yolk held together under the pressure. Jo and I played with them as they floated around whist Hannah took a video. The second exercise was to look at a colour chart that, on the surface, was the primary and secondary colours. At depth the red and orange had been replaced with healthy shit brown and unhealthy shit brown respectively.

We headed back towards the boat, mainly between 22 & 18 metres. I had sucked my 15 litre tank from 200psi to just over 100 in the space of about 15 minutes and when I relayed this info to Hannah, she led us closer to the surface – much to my delight. My air was clearly not going to last all the way back to the boat and I was more than relieved when we made it to five metres and received the signal to stay at that level for three minutes. We ended up 100 metres or so from the boat and I swam back slowly. Hannah wanted to show us the drop tank that the boat had put 5 metres under for us – emergency oxygen if required at the safety stop. I just wanted out of the water and asked Jo to take a photo.

It took me at least an hour to settle, in which time Jo went for a snorkel. I’d been there, done that and never want to do it again.

We had lunch while the boat repositioned to Moray Beach for our 7th and final dive of the three days with Sailing Club Divers in Nha Trang – Underwater Photography.

I was pleased that this was basically a fun dive at around 12 metres. Jo and I shared the camera between us and got some beauties I think.

We surfaced and waited, and waited, and waited for everyone else to get on board. Two snorkellers had forgotten they were meant to come back to the boat and were a few hundred metres away, still heading away from us.

Our captain pulled anchor and collected them but it was already 1230. We had the 1400 bus almost written off but stayed optimistic. To make matters worse the swell dictated that we took a round about and slow course back to the dock, we didn’t make land until 1330. We were not going to make it to the van – it would have left the tourist office already.

We made a call to skip the group bus and get a taxi. We said our goodbyes to Lucy and Hannah and grabbed the first taxi we could get.

The good news was that it was a proper, metered taxi with the rates on the dash. Our driver either understood the english word “Quick” or the frantic sign language that I was making and we took off in a cloud of tyre smoke.

We flew up the beachfront road, horn on full blast the entire journey and the 10 minute Divers Club Bus trip became a four minute taxi ride… our driver was a dead set legend. We raced inside and while I grabbed our backpacks, Jo had the bloke inside get all our paperwork out. We signed off our five dives and jumped in the cab. I signalled the required street and our man cut straight across four lanes of traffic to take us to the tourist agency.

Unfortunately we missed it the first time by but the driver asked a local who pointed him in the right directon… back down the street… in reverse.

The agent told our man where to go and he took off – horn in one hand, the rest of the steering wheel in the other.

We made it to the bus stop just as the last of the passengers luggage was being loaded. Jo arrange for ours to be loaded also while I paid D110,000 for the metered D94,000 fare, shaking the poor guys hand right off his wrist.

We were wet from seaspray, salty, tired but on board the right bus… we were going to get to Dalat.

Thus ends the second panic of the day.

We pulled into Dalat Bus Station at 1750 – over an hour earlier than planned and our transfer to the hotel that the tourist agency had told us would be there actually was. I would have bet 10 to 1 against on that.

Hotel du Parc was excellent. A doorman took our bags to our room and we settled in.

We headed into the bustling city market for an hour or so and got a feed from a mobile streetside cafe. The sweet and sour pork was particularly good and we were both enjoying the spicy squid until I told Jo that something slimy had come out of the big bit she’d left for me that I thought may have been the head. She declined offers for more squid so I tucked in to the rest of the plate.

We returned to Hotel du Parc at 2030 and went to sleep immediately.

More diving

On a quickfire trip such as this one, it’s often nice to get a sense of normality in our schedule. Whilst this was only day two of our diving, having a plan (of sorts) was quite nice.

We were up at 0600 and had breakfast at the Happy Light Hotel buffet once again. I finished the parts of the PADI knowledge reviews that I was too tired to complete the night before. We walked the 500 metres or so to Sailing Club Divers and boarded the van to the wharf at 0800.

Once on board we met Hannah, an english dive instructor who would be looking after us for the next couple of days, and throughout the 45 minute trip to Hon Mun we went through the written knowledge reviews and prepared for our first part of our five part Advanced Divers Certificate – Peak Buoyancy Performance.

Word had gotten around Sailing Club Divers that I sucked through the air so it was a welcome relief to see some 15 litre steel tanks sitting there for me to use. The 12 litre aluminium ones just weren’t cutting it.

We arrived at South Bay already kitted up. Of the 10 people on the boat, we were the first off as we had to complete three dives. We descended to 10 metres where the first task was to stay in one position for a minute – Jo achieved this with no problems whatsoever.

I was another story.

As this was only my 7th dive, I was still inexperienced and hadn’t really figured out exactly what I was doing. The steel tank was much heavier than I’d been used to and the bloody thing kept pulling me over on my back. A much better diver could control it but I was having all sorts of trouble. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably about five minutes, I managed to complete the task, having got my BCD air level correct after several failures.

Hannah must have wondered what she was getting herself in for. She then pulled out her knife (I didn’t think I was that bad) and I was relieved when she sank it into the sand with only the handle showing. We had to use breath control to come up to the end of the knife and place our noses on it. To my surprise we managed it first time.

The next task was to swim through 2 hula hoops, one on the ocean floor and one a foot or so above the first… all without touching the ground or the hoop itself. As I was now at a good buoyancy I managed it first time and Jo went through as if she’d been doing it all her life.

We surfaced 39 minutes later and I apologised for the start – promising that it could only get better.

We had to wait on the boat for 35 minutes before we could start the second dive – Navigation.

We had to swim along a 30 metre piece of rope, placed at 10.4 metres down on the ocean floor. Hannah timed us in each direction and we had to count the number of kick cycles it took us from start to finish. The results could be useful for knowing how far a swim may have taken you. This was followed by an out and back swim in a direction we were given and had to find on our compasses, however we were expected to use corals, light and landscape features to recognise where we were and where we had come from. Jo must be stronger on one side as she fell a little off course as a result of a natural, slow right hand turn… perfect for swimming in large circles. The final test was to swim a square, aided by our compasses. 15 kick cycles each direction. We both managed to find our way back to where we started. 32 minutes after leaving the boat, we were back on board.

Both dives had been at the balmy temperature of 26 degrees – just perfect.

We had the on board lunch of bananas, pineapple and chicken curry with rice as the boat headed to Moray Beach for our final dive – search and recovery.

Hannah showed us three knots that we’d need to tie underwater and told us what the plan for the dive was. We descended to 7.9 metres and began. A spoon was hidden in the sand and we had to use a piece of string to find it. I was the pivot and Jo swam circles around me at varying lengths. Once she completed 360 degrees I tugged on the string twice to let her know she was done. She found the spoon 200 degrees through her second rotation. We then had to find a weight belt using a U shaped navigation pattern… 15 kick cycles east, 5 north, 15 west, 5 north etc. Once we’d located the belt we had to tie the three knots and attach a bag to the top of the rope. This was slowly filled with air from the octy so that it became neutrally buoyant and would be easy to bring to the surface. Jo and Hannah took it to the surface while I tagged on for the trip. We were under for 28 minutes.

After a lousy start on my behalf I was starting to get the feel for it. Jo looked like she’d been born in the water.

We arrived back at Nha Trang Port about 1300 and went straight to The Veranda for some well earned lunch and beer. Pizzas were the order of the day – Jo had chicken and I went with the seafood. I also had 200 grams of the sea bass that was so good on our last visit to The Veranda. These were washed down with a nice cold Larue Beer.

As our accommodation had only been booked for one more night, we went back to Happy Light Hotel for a shower and to make a game plan for the following day. We wanted to take the 5 hour bus to Dalat but needed to have time to do so after we’d returned from our course.

We ended up doing a circuit of the backpacker and tourist area asking all the “travel agents” what our options were. The last bus out of Nha Trang was at 1400 – it would be tight as the dive boat usually arrived at the port between 1230 and 1330 each day.

After a stop at Romy’s Ice Cream (not the first time we’d been there) for a cappuccino double scoop (chocolate for Jo) we took a chance and booked two US$7 tickets to Dalat at 1400 the following day. We were told to be at the travel agents for a taxi to the train station at 1320. We suggested that probably wasn’t going to happen and that we’d be in touch.

We stopped for a quick beer at Why Not Bar as they had wifi and Jo managed to get a great deal on a four start hotel in Dalat – NZ$45 per night. We snapped it up and finally had a plan in place.

Whether it was going to work or not remained to be seen.

We still had some study to do for the two dives the following day so we headed back to the hotel. I was completely stuffed and asleep by 1930. I snored for an hour and a half I’m told.

Hon Mun Diving

Anticipation of the diving ensured we were well awake by the time our alarm clock was due to go off at 0630.

Breakfast was a damn good spread. A buffet of mixed Western and Vietnamese cuisine with plenty of good coffee. Jo had scrambled eggs with bacon and potatoes whilst I had a really good mushroom, bacon and tomato omelette.

We arrived at Sailing Club Divers at 0745 and were on the bus with two danish girls and an american by 0800.

The port was only a ten minute drive away so we were on the boat and being introduced to our Welsh dive master soon after.

Hon Mun Island was a 45 minute boat trip away on a wooden, two deck vessel that would comfortably have held 30 divers so we were stoked to have just the five and plenty of room to move.

We pulled up at the first site Tri Minh Treat alongside three or four other boats and geared up.

I’d only had my four training dives previously so I was a little nervous prior to hitting the water. I calmed down immediately on entry, mainly due to the balmy 25c water temperature and the nice thin 3mm wetsuit we’d been provided. My training dives had been at Leigh in October – in a 7mm wetsuit at 14c.

Most of the dive was nice and shallow – around six to eight metres but we did get down as far as 12 metres. Under the surface we saw a huge array of coral and fish of all sizes and colours. A moray eel, clownfish (think Nemo) and a huge prawn that woud have probably been enough for me for lunch were the highlights. Luckily for the prawn and unluckily for me the area was a marine protection zone so lunch would not be quite as exciting. I only managed 30 minutes before my tank got down to 40 bar. We were very close to the boat and only four or five metres deep so we surfaced. Jo, being much more experienced and calmer than me, continued with Lucy for a further 20 minutes in which time they spotted a puffer fish.

Lunch was provided on the boat and was a very basic chicken noodle stir fry. We waited for everything to settle and headed to Moray Beach, just around the point, for our second dive.

This time I managed 39 minutes under and was a little more confident in my breathing. An extra kilo of lead helped also as I’d struggled to stay down on the first dive. We were greeted by Angelfish and even more varieties of coral. This dive was a little shallower at 9.1 metres but there was more than enough to keep us interested. One of the more interesting sights was a spiky black bottom feeder that looked more like an anemone than anything. Lucy made the sign for “dangerous” so I kept a little distance but it was one of the most intriguing creatures I’ve seen under the water. Once again, I surfaced and left Jo and Lucy to it for another 20 minutes.

We got changed, reviewed a few of the photos I’d taken on the rental camera and headed back to Nha Trang, arriving at 1300 feeling pretty bloody good about life.

Lunch was at Veranda – we’d decided the chicken stir fry qualified as a snack. The seafood hot pot consisted of shrimps, squid and fish in a tomato and chilli broth. The waitress helped us with the servings and ensured everything was cooked suitably. Once again, The Veranda had delivered although the staff were visibly mystified that I was picking at the raw green beans prior to their entry to the hot pot. That’s just how I roll.

We got back to Happy Light Hotel at 1500, having said no to over half a dozen cigarette sellers on the 300 metres that we had walked.

I hit the bed and was asleep within a couple of minutes – waking at 1630 with travellers guts. It wasn’t food poisoning, just the travel and food differences catching up on me. It was cleared in a three minute session best not described on the internet – there’s plenty of that stuff on other sites.

We headed back to Sailing Club Divers and booked ourselves in for an advanced diving course for the next few days and in return for the USD$250 each we were presented with a 379 page study book. This was meant to be a holiday!

Dinner was what I’ve always found has been the best medicine for travellers guts – a cheeseburger at Why Not Bar. It went down a treat. For the second night running I was surrounded by the wait staff who were all intrigued by my bluetooth keyboard for the iPhone and as I typed the previous paragraph I had three people watching over me wanting to know how it all worked. The only downer was that a rat scuttled up a drainpipe – anyone that knows me knows rats and mice are my biggest fear… I type this paragraph with my legs around my ears, perched up on the small table leaner in case the little bugger comes back.

We walked back around the tourist block of Nha Trang, complete with it’s backpacker bars and restaurants, under constant harassment from touts and hawkers. All place names were in English and Russian as there are two flights daily direct from Russia on offering brief, prepackaged respites from the winter snow.

We spent an hour or so studying for our advanced diving course but I lost it around 2100 and slept well.

British Backpacker Bastards & Back on a Bike

That’ll teach me for posting a blog before the night is over.

We thought it was but we still had a few hours to go. The noise from the teenage English Backpackers was already raucous when we returned to the hotel but by 2300 it was unbearable. Even the usually mild tempered Jo got out of bed and yelled at them.

We made the call to check out and paid the US$10 for the night. The bloke at the front desk (I hesitate to call it a reception) called us a taxi and we went straight to the Novotel right on the beach front. We found a really helpful staff member who seemed to realise our situation but seemed a little stunned when two smelly backpackers showed up at 2330 asking for a room.

“You know it over US$100 – yes?”

He was probably quite correct to check that we knew what we were in for. I asked for the cheapest possible room and we were told it would be cheaper if we didn’t get breakfast. He could do a room for US$115.50 – much less than the US$200 suggested on the sign behind him. We snapped it up and he even upgraded us to a superior room with a seaside view.

We had the best sleep we’d had all trip and didn’t wake up until 0815.

After a lazy ciggie on the balcony we used our iPhones to look for alternative accommodation and I found one on Expedia that was 50 metres up the road. We walked to Happy Light and booked a room for 2 nights at D900,000 (NZ46). It was a little more than budget but in a backpacker town, famous for drunken poms we thought that now was as good as ever to go just a little upmarket.

Breakfast was at Kirin Restaurant. My beef pho was as good as we’ve had so far and Jo’s omelette wasn’t too bad either. We also ordered bread and cheese with coffee.

We’ll stop here for a second because I’m not sure I’ve mentioned how good the bread and coffee are here in Vietnam.

The bread is French style baguettes made the proper way – crispy outside and fluffy inside. You just can’t buy bread this good in New Zealand. The coffee is always served super strong and either with milk, condensed milk or just black (my preference). It is always nice and strong and had a very slight hint of sweetness that we believe is because they roast the beans in butter.

Bread and coffee for breakfast will do me just fine.

We repacked our bags as somehow Jo was carrying 10kg more than me. After one last lookout from the balcony on to Nha Trang Beach below we reluctantly checked out and walked down to Happy Light Hotel.

We arranged a rental motorbike from reception at D150,000 (NZ$10) – a little more than we payed in Hoi An but we figured if anything went wrong, we’d be able to call the hotel to bail us out. 10 minutes later a bloke showed up and explained how everything worked to us.

About 2 kilometres north of our Hotel is the Po Nagar Cham Towers, built mainly with bricks between the 7th & 12th centuries. Not only was the North Tower an impressive sight, rising above the others, the location offered views across one of the rivers and towards the city. We spent a fair bit of time lingering and taking a leisurely walk around the complex that was relatively devoid of tourists and completely devoid of drunk English backpackers.

The parking ticket had a price of D2,000 on it – the first time we’d seen a price on anything but a menu and we were stoked to be charged just that.

We filled up with gas and (after a minor 3km navigational error) made our way down a windy residential road to Thap Ba Hot Spring Centre and it’s spas, mineral pool and mud baths. The mud baths interested me but the D450,000 price didn’t so we decided to order a late lunch – it was already 1430.

I had seen frog on most menus, but every time I ordered it in the past I had been told it wasn’t available. At Thap Ba I finally got my chilli frog and it went down a treat. Jo ordered shrimp with cashews and seafood spring rolls – both were excellent and not lacking in seafood. The bill came to D250,000 (NZ$17) and we left full and contented.

We rode back past the Po Nagar Cham Towers on the way to our next stop the Long Son Pagoda.

One of the great things about being on a motorbike is the ability to see parts of places that you may not normally see. Hidden behind the touristy beachfront, 315,000 people live in Nha Trang – and all of them seemed to be on the road with us. It was the heaviest traffic I’d ridden in but the last few days in the saddle had given me a little bit of confidence and I was able to commit to a line as well as getting the feel for the road rules.

1) If you are not going to be the one that stops to avoid an accident, toot your horn.
2) If neither, or both, parties toot simultaneously the tiebreaker shall be won by the first person to flash their lights.
3) If you run a red light you should give way, unless you toot your horn first.
4) When riding the wrong way down a street, keep left unless overtaking.
5) The accepted signalling to identify that you plan to stop in the middle of the road is to stop in the middle of the road.

We made it to the pagoda after a two kilometre navigational detour and I parked the bike where a self proclaimed parking warden suggested. On being told that parking would be D10,000 I reparked a few doors down. White man tax was 500% at this lady’s carpark.

I walked back to Jo, who had already dismounted and was waiting for me. She’d been told that parking at the base of the pagoda was free so I moved yet again.

As expected the advice in relation to the free parking was not free and we are now the proud owners of D50,00 (NZ$3) worth of postcards bought from the girl that pointed us in the right direction. A net loss of D48,000.

The Long Son Pagoda was a fully functioning area and we saw a few monks in training walking around the area. It was larger than many of the temples and other religious sites that we’d seen previously but the standout sight was a huge buddha statue that towered over the pagoda. We walked up the 100 or so steps to check it out. It is so large that there is a prayer area located in it.

We rode via the beach road back to the hotel and returned our ride – we’d only busted the seat luggage clamp so it was an improvement on our previous attempts with Vietnamese machinery.

We had a quick Larue beer at Crazy Kim’s bar before dinner, but the speed of our drinking was mainly due to having 6 hawkers come in to the bar to try and sell us silk art, wallets and assorted chinese made junk. As much as I have enjoyed the trip to date, the hawkers and touts have been atrocious – far worse than even Cuba,

Dinner was once again at Veranda Restaurant. Jo had a couple of glasses of Dalat white wine and I had a Saigon Lager. We shared garlic bread, a squid and shrimp pizza and 200gms of fresh, tasty sea bass. The bill came to D182,000 – about NZ13.

We dropped back into the dive shop to discuss an advanced diving course and were back at Happy Light Hotel by 2000. We were half way through the trip already and spent the rest of the evening making plans for more diving in Nha Trang, some time in Dalat and our crossing into Cambodia.

Hoi An reflections and exciting prospects

If we’d had any sense of structure in the trip so far it had been our hours. Up around 0600 and (as I am now an old, old man) back in the hotel around 1900. The morning was no different, and with a taxi due to take us to the airport at 1215, we had goodies to collect and a few sights to see in Hoi An before we left. Where we’d previously only seen a submerged gate and stairs between our hotel and the river, we could now see a silty walkway. Hoi An would be a beautiful place in the dry season.

After a breakfast of Pho and banana pancakes we hit the road on the bike about 0700 to see what we could find of interest.

Hoi An has a unique attraction system whereby you pay D90,000 (NZ$6) for a ticket that allows entry into five of around ten main attractions. We used the trusty Lonely Planet to decide where to go and with Jo now much more comfortable riding two up on the bike, she was able to navigate as we rode.

The first two were two assembly halls – basically temples. First up was the Chaozhou Chinese Congregation followed by the Hinan Chinese Congregation. As it was still early in the morning, both places were not yet on the tour bus radar so we had them to ourselves. Both were similar, with people from various regions of China using the areas to meet and pray. Neither was very big so ten minutes at each was plenty to take them all in.

The Quan Cong temple was next on the list, a temple dedicated to a Chinese General. A huge paper-mache statue of Quan Cong is the focal point.

Our visit to the Hoi An Museum of History and Culture would have been disappointing had it not been for an argument over parking that I got in with a woman who had claimed the sidewalk as her parking lot. We parked beside a bunch of other bikes and she told me that parking was D10,000. I’d seen plenty of locals paying D5,000 or less for parking all over Vietnam and I wasn’t going to get robbed. She had no interest in dropping her rates and I had no interest in paying her anything. I parked on the other side of the museum entrance and she proceeded to try and move the bike. I stood over her (she was all of four foot) and was ready for a standoff when Jo pointed out I could park in the small foyer of the museum itself. I did so, much to the lady’s disgust. She sneered at me so I pulled out my camera to take a photo of her… smiling as I did. We’ll call it a points decision to us. The museum consisted of some old photos of Hoi An and very unimportant artifacts such as a cannon and a drum.

We overshot Tan Ky House and ended up at the second bridge that was well underwater just 48 hours previously. Now riverboats and their touts waited for the next busload of fat American tourists. We took a quick ride for a few hundred metres along the other side the An Hoi Peninsula before soot and mud stopped us.

We eventually found Tan Ky house,the home of a rich merchant some two hundred years ago. It was elegantly furnished and came complete with it’s own prayer station as seems to be the norm in most of Vietnam. We were offered two small cups of tea and, breaking with our tradition of not accepting “gifts” I accepted – paying D10,000 before we had any trouble trying to get out without paying. To her credit, she seemed genuinely delighted at our payment.

We stopped for a double espresso and coke at a cafe in the touristy old town and I was intrigued by the shop next door that sold wooden seal stamps. We’d seen them in HCMC but I hadn’t taken much notice. The storefront was less than a metre wide and inside a bloke sat waiting for custom. There was only one option for me if I was to get a seal… our Playstation Guitar Hero band the Howick Liberation Front needed a seal. I drew (poorly) my idea. The Vietnamese star surrounded by the words “Howick Liberation Front”. At US$7 for our own seal it was a bargain. We couldn’t be laughed at now – we had an official seal. It was already 0900 and I was told to collect it at 1130.

We shot around to the tailors and the shoe shop but neither orders were ready yet so it was back to the hotel.

I briefly went out to get some cigarettes and somehow got drawn into a T-shirt shop where I picked up some not quite genuine Billabong shorts for US$5. The togs I bought to Vietnam had developed a tear right where I didn’t want one to be so the purchase was both good value and exceptionally necessary.

We collected and paid for my three pairs of shorts just after 1100 – all were exceptionally well made and exact replicas of the torn filthy pair that I had given the lady to work off.

Our H.L.F. seal was not quite ready when we got there but I got a few photos of the craftsman putting the final touches to it with a small chisel and then giving it a final sand down.

The shoes still were not ready at 1130 so I dropped Jo back to the hotel and waited. By 1145 both pairs were ready for me and I parked the bike outside the Riverside Hotel as the taxi pulled in.

The trip to Da Nang Airport took about 40 minutes. I reflected on the could have been in Hoi An – The Lantern Festival in particular. But we’d had a ball and more than one story had come from the visit. I think we have some unfinished business there – maybe in the dry season.

We had an awful airport meal of beef and chips before being bussed to our plane for the 1415 take off.

It was overcast as we approached Cam Ranh Airport, 30 kms outside of Nha Trang, and our propped plane bounced around a bit in the cloud. On landing we seemed to spend an eternity on the right rear wheels before the left settled down.

We caught a bus to Nha Trang that took half an hour and avoided most of the gathered taxi drivers as we pulled in although Jo had to barge her way between two of them (I’m so proud).

We walked less than half a kilometre but didn’t like the look of the first hotel we tried. As we hit the beach we saw The Sailing Club Divers office and I went in to enquire. Despite what we’d been told in Hue and Hoi An it was business as usual. We vowed to return and took the advice of one of the dive masters, heading for a block of hotels.

We were shown an average US$15 a night room but when I tried to get three nights for US$40 the receptionist suggested we look at a US$10 room. It was equally as average but cheaper so we booked in for three nights at Pho Bien Sea Town Hotel.

We walked back to Sailing Club divers and booked a two dive trip around a nearby marine reserve at Hon Mun (Ebony) Island for US$50 each including all gear – about a quarter the price of similar trips in New Zealand.

We took the dive masters advice again and headed for dinner at Restaurant Veranda. It looked a little too upmarket for us but the prices and food were superb. My D130,000 (around NZ$9) set menu was 4 prawn spring rolls, chicken and corn soup, a sensational slice of frest sea bass and a Dalat red wine. Dunno much about wine but it was quite drinkable. Jo’s meal was garlic bread, fresh fish (whole) and a chicken and vegetable lemongrass and chilli main. We both finished off with a plate of fresh fruit; watermelon, pineapple and dragon fruit. I sat on a couple of Saigon Lagers and typed up the blog for the last couple of days – we would be eating at Veranda Restaurant again for sure.

We walked back to the hotel around 2030 – excited at new prospects in a new town.

Retail Therapy (Girl for a day)

Incredibly, the day dawned without rain once again. Given that less than 48 hours earlier we were evacuating from our hotel, we were more than happy to accept overcast skies for the day.

We had breakfast in the Grasslands Hotel and looked at booking flights to our next destination Nha Trang. The average speed of cars, busses and rail in Vietnam is somewhere around the 45kph mark so the 600 odd kilometres seemed a little too daunting on land. The Vietnam Airlines site was offering Da Nang to Nha Trang at D1,300,000 – well less than NZ$90… it was a decision easily made. The hotel booked us a taxi at US$7.50 each.

We decided to rent a motorbike again and figured that, since we knew where to find one that had very recently been serviced, we should see if our bike from the previous day was available. We were pleased to see it sitting on the roadside ready for rental although the 3/4 tank full of gas we’d left in it had disappeared. Our lady put in a few litres to get it just over 1/4 full.

‘We dropped into the shop where I’d bought my prescription sunglasses so Jo could buy some of her own and I went next door to the barbers for a much needed cut throat shave (U$3).

Jo bought a pair of sunglasses and a pair of regular specs and I thought it may be a good idea to get a backup pair for myself. The D3,000,000 (NS$200) bill for all three pairs is less than I paid for the one pair I’ve had for the last few years.

Heading towards the river, we were astonished to see that the river had receded right back to lower than it was when we’d arrived in Hoi An. The Riverside was open and the staff saw us peering inside to the (now dry) ground floor. They came out and told us we were welcome to move back in… we couldn’t resist the much handier location.

Our bike rental came in handy over the next hour or so as we both went back to Grasslands to pack then explained to the staff that we would be moving back to Riverside. They were excellent and made arrangements for us to pay for the one night and have the Riverside fix them up for the other one.

I ferried my backpack back first then returned for Jo and her backpack. If I do say so myself, I was getting to be quite an expert at dodging hawkers, market goers, cars and busses in the narrow streets of Hoi An.

We were given a room upstairs that was a little smaller than our first one but we were more than happy under the circumstances.

The girl at reception suggested a tailor (for commission no doubt) and immediately got on the phone. The lady said she’d open up the shop for us in 10 minutes. We used the time to buy souvenir T Shirts at US$2 each – the 4XL just fitted me but will likely be thrown out after the first wash once it shrinks the standard 2 1/3 sizes as is regulation for all cheap souvenir tees.

Back at Phong Cloth Shop, I handed over one of my most treasured possessions – a pair of long baggy purple skate shorts that I’d picked up in Los Angeles circa 1995. They’d served me now but the state of them was embarrassing – even more so than your average pair of long baggy purple skate shorts usually are.

I asked the lady if she could replicate them and she answered in the affirmative. We decided that US$70 was the right price for three pairs – purple, yellow and black. We didn’t have to pay until we’d seen the finished product, that she promised to have brought to us before our taxi to the airport left at midday the following day.

Jo wasn’t interested in anything much but I got a small understanding of the value of retail therapy to the psyche… I left stoked.

Next on the shopping list was shoes – I prepared for a long afternoon as Jo picked out styles, colours and prices.

It never happened.

Instead, Jo sat around warily as I picked out fabrics and styles at Than Thien Friendly Shop (no kidding – that’s the name). I opted, after much manly debate, on Chuck Taylor copies in bright purple and Doc Marten copies in dark purple. US$75 for both. Every part of my foot was measured and both feet were traced. Only the brave go there and the assistant deserved every cent of whatever her commission for that sale was. We could collect them at 1100 the following morning we were assured.

We had a reasonable lunch at a touristy place just on the outskirts of the older part of Hanoi. My caramalised pork was pretty good and the shrimp soup was a good size but was basically chicken and sweetcorn soup with three added shrimps. Jo’s chicken sandwich was the least Vietnamese order but the chips and aioli won plate of the meal as decided by both the judges.

After a quick stop at our hotel, we headed over the Cam Nam Bridge – or at least 3/4 of it. Having stopped for photos, history repeated and our bike refused to take throttle. I despairingly rolled it the 50 metres back to the hotel.

Just as I was about to walk it back the kilometre or so back to the rental place, it showed brief signs of life. I made the most of it and headed helmetless and Joless back through the streets of Hoi An.

I signed the problem to the lady and she offered a replacement. I took it all of 200 metres when the same thing happened although I was able to nurse it back to the hire shop. I gave up and walked back to Riverside.

We negotiated a US$10 rental of another bike from the hotel but I told our receptionist of our troubles and she assured me this one would be a good one… it was hers. While I wandered around the soon-to-be-rebuilt markets taking photos, the lady’s husband showed up with her bike. Jo tells me he didn’t look too happy about the whole thing.

We hit the road looking for a gas station and filled the bike up – D80,000 for a tank.

We spent the afternoon cruising the streets – a motorbike is the only way to see the small towns of Vietnam and the freedom to do what we wanted was fantastic. The collection of our new glasses that would have been a 10 minute walk each way was a 2 minute ride. Once again, the optometrist had excelled himself and we left happy.

Along the eastern border of the old town is a Japanese covered bridge from the 1590s that we stopped at. As seems to be the case with most places of note in Hoi An there was a small area for praying in the middle of it. The bridge only spanned a river of around 5 metres or so and I suspected it too would have been underwater just a few days before.

As night fell we were hoping that the Full Moon Festival, in which lanterns are placed on the river to float downstream, was going to take place. Unfortunately the floods had denied us the opportunity to see it.

We finally gave in to the demands of a street vendor selling donuts and fried banana fritters at D10,000 a piece – both were not too bad for street food and at less than a dollar a piece was pretty good value.

We found a nifty sidewalk cafe that had sprung up on a corner lit only dimly by a streetlight where Jo had White Rose – a soft wonton with pork served with a sweet sauce – five for D25,000 (NZ$1.65). I ordered a seafood pancake that was more pancake than seafood. A single shrimp in each of three 10 cm round egg heavy pancakes justifying the seafood logo. Jo’s was so good we ordered an extra plate. We had a 333 beer each and paid D130,000 – less than NZ$10.

We walked slowly back through the streets to our hotel. I paused to take a few more photos and Jo paused to buy a lantern light shade at D70,000 (NZ4.65) – she was due something having put up with my shopping spree earlier.

We were back riverside by 1900 and I spent a few hours on the balcony updating the blog and checking news from home.

Shopping – I may be a convert.

You don’t get days like this in tour groups

We opened the wooden doors onto our balcony with some trepidation and were more then pleasantly surprised to see a very light drizzle and some puddles on the cracked road.

As experts in Vietnamese weather patterns we’d seen this before though. The rain usually builds up over a hot day then releases all it’s might around 1300 every day.

After breakfast in the hotel we donned our raincoats and walked back towards the river to see what damage had been done.

On the way to the river we collected my prescription sunglasses. I hadn’t taken an eye test to get the right prescription but the bloke had some device that figured it out from my usual glasses. Whatever he did, it worked a treat. I’m looking forward to testing them out when we get home and I play cricket again.

The markets had been moved back three blocks onto what used to be a busy vehicular thoroughfare. It was now equally busy but mainly with roadside food stalls selling flowers, fish, meat and vegetables. The motorised traffic was still trying to zip zap through the chaos but they were limited to no better than walking pace.

We’d realised late the previous night that we’d left our iPhone charger in our room when we evacuated but our mission to retrieve it was hindered…

We couldn’t get within a block of our old hotel – except by wooden canoes that were ferrying baggage and up to ten tourists at a time from Cam Nam Island on the other side of the bridge to the moderate safety of the mainland. We were initially offered D50,000 to be ferried across but one of the boats was obviously paid for by the hotels and they let me jump on board… I was going the opposite way to the bulk of the traffic. Jo waited behind.

When we got to the intersection that our hotel was located on it became apparent that we weren’t going to be able to get our charger – the doors were closed and the water was at about knee height inside.

I disembarked onto the Cam Nam Bridge and saw some people on the second floor back balcony. I shouted out the situation to a bloke and he said he’d look inside.

“What do you want me to do if I find it?”

“Dunno” I said, “I’ll figure it out if it’s there”.

I waited 30 minutes, aware that Jo would have me floating lifeless downstream if I didn’t get a boat back soon. We were no more than 200 metres apart but in the chaos we couldn’t see each other.

I got a lift back with some locals at D20,000 (NZ$1.35) and watched as they all paid D5000. Unlike in Cuba, Vietnam does not have an official tourist currency – the charges just vary depending on the colour of your skin.

We got a bit lost on the walk back to our hotel but found a shop that rented motorbikes for US$4 per day. The sky was starting to show signs of blue so we decided to take a chance and rent one. The lady running the shop didn’t even ask for my license – she just gave us the keys and we headed off.

We picked up the camera from the hotel and headed out on the road to The Marble Mountains (Ngu Hanh Son) about 12 kilometres away. We’d missed them the day before and we wanted to use the potentially short window of dryness to it’s fullest.

We were only a few kilometres from the mountains when I realised the petrol gauge was well below empty. Jo and I with our packed day bags on a 100cc scooter, kilometres from anywhere, running on what appeared to be the fumes only.

About 400 metres from the Marble Mountains turnoff a bike pulled up beside us. You simply cannot get away from the touts in Vietnam… she pointed out the glaringly obvious turnoff and followed us through the rough, flooded streets lined with shops selling marble sculptures.

I had no choice but to leave Jo behind there – there was no way we’d both make it to Da Nang, the nearest city, some 6 kilometres away. Our tout saw our predicament and pointed to a hand pump in the shop where Jo was headed for a drink but I didn’t want to take any chances with a rental. I was heading to Da Nang with everyting crossed that I had enough gas to get there.

I did – just. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to find a gassy.

I headed back to Jo as fast as the bike would carry me (90kmph as it turns out) and found her waiting on the road, having only just shaken our marble tout off, some 30 minutes after I’d left Jo behind.

We passed three people claiming to be the last carpark before the entrance to The Marble Mountains and parked the bike at the last carpark before the entrance to The Marble Mountains.

D5,000 (35c) they told us…

“Free if you buy something”

As we watched the tour groups pay D70,000 (around NZ$4) to take the purpose built elevator to the top, we paid NZ$1 to walk the 132 steps we’d been told it was to the top.

The mountains would be no more than 80 or 100 metres high and they jut out of the otherwise flat landscape like Mt Maunganui does in the Bay of Plenty. They didn’t look too high and although the marble steps were slippery and uneven, we made it up the 132 steps in a minute or so. But there were more – plenty more.

On the first level was a huge marble statue of Buddha and through the Ong Chon gate we saw the Linh Ong Pagoda. Neither were particularly spectacular in their own right but the location couldn’t be beaten.

Around the back of the pagoda, and ignored by the gathered tour groups, was a small sign pointing to the Tang Chon Dong. We we’re blown away to find we were the only ones in there. Ahead was a Buddha statue and to our right was a stone shrine. Jo went exploring and it was a good thing she did. In another cave off the one we were in was a Hindhu style statue – hidden away where it could easily have been missed.

We stopped for a drink as what had begun as an overcast grey day was now sunny and blue – I could even start to feel the sunburn coming on.

We saw several more pagodas and caves but the Dong Huyen Khong Cave was by far the grandest. Access was via Dong Hoa Nghien Cave. The moderately unimpressive cave once again hid one of the most amazing places I’ve been my life.

Through a narrow entry and down some steep marble steps was a massive cavern, housing several stations with statues and a stone temple. Watching over the cavern, 20 metres above was a huge Buddha statue. Photographs just won’t do this place justice. If Harrison Ford ever gets broke enough to demand a fifth Indiana Jones movie, it would have to be shot in the Dong Huyen Khong. To mystify the setting even more, a hole on the roof sent rays of light through the cavern, splashing light off the interior walls.

I found it hard to leave but we had to go some time.

We bought a marble Buddha souvineer (made in China – US$22) and rode the bike north a few kilometres to China Beach – a US Army hang out for soldiers who had time off. We found a small gap between kilometres and kilometres of seemingly empty five star resorts and took a look. It was not anything special but I had a giggle in thinking that what used to be a place where fit Americans that would rather not be in Vietnam went to try to relax. 44 odd years later fat Americans are going to pay for the same pleasure without all the dirty work required to get there.

We rode back to a spot a few kilometres out fron Hoi An where I stopped to take photos of some fishermen.

After 10 minutes, Jo climbed on the back of the bike and I tried to start it. It fired OK but as soon as I tried to apply some throttle there was nothing, I tried again… and again.

With no other option, I started walking the bike back to Hoi An.

We couldn’t get more than 20 metres without someone stopping to help – there were four or five in total and none of them could figure it out.

One tall, skinny bloke who looked about 70 but who I suspected was younger, signalled for Jo to get on his bike. It was the only way for her to get back to our hotel a few kilometres up the road so we accepted. I kept walking and waiting as the good samaritans stopped to help.

A few minutes later our hero came back for me. Putting his foot on the back of my seat, whilst riding his own scooter, he pushed me to a home mechanic 500 metres up the road where Jo was waiting.

The mechanic stopped what he was doing immediately and started pulling the bike apart. I offered our hero D50,000 (NZ3.35) that he initially refused to take but eventually did, although on seeing my wallet he decided that D100,00 would be a more suitable amount… who was I to argue?

The mechanic checked the spark plug, pulled off and cleaned the air and fuel filter and did everything but unbolt the motor. In the mean time our hero gave Jo a lift back to the hotel on his bike.

I smoked several cigarettes and kept our hero well stocked on his return and about 40 minutes later the bike was running again. I didn’t know what to pay, our hero said D200,000 – way too much in local currency but (again) who was I to argue? I offered it to the mechanic whose eyes lit up, but he refused to take it. I insisted – he had been so good to us dropping everything. He very gratefully took it after I offered it a fourth time.

We returned the bike and I tried to explain the issue we’d had in sign language. We could have taken the bike back broken but I hated to have thought what the reaction would have been or what sort of money would be demanded. I believe that, under weird circumstances, we did the right thing – and at D300,000 (NZ20) in repairs and tips, we had a good story to tell.

We had dinner at a roadside cafe full of locals. The lemongrass chicken was excellent but the servings were small. We were paying more than the locals and getting smaller servings. Still at only NZ$10 it wasn’t the worst.

We were back at the hotel by 1900 and I was out like a light.

Footnote: It’s very difficult to know who to trust in Vietnam. Everyone wants their share of the tourist loot. Hotels get upset if you book transport without using the in house “travel agency”, touts are everywhere and prices are always inflated. We’ve come to accept this and whilst always trying to avoid being ripped off, a lot of the money we’re spending (such as the “tip” to our hero) are actually very small in NZ dollars and make for a good story.

Every time I get down in these situations here someone steps up to give me hope again – the waiter in Hue who was so proud of his country, the waitress on Cat Ba who returned my camera that was probably worth a few months wages or some (but not all) of the folk who stopped to offer us assistance with the bike. It’s a minefield to navigate between truth and deceit but in the long run it is part of the reason we choose to travel in Vietnam, Cambodia, Cuba, Morocco, Peru and such places. Safer places are for safer people. Countries like those above are for travellers, not tourists. Or – for tourists in safe tour groups, sheltered from the many of the nasties in such places…

… and you don’t get days like this in tour groups.

Vietnam – Quite wet this time of year

Up early yet again to the sound of rainfall and the sight of our street once again underwater… worse than we’d seen it previously,

Breakfast was chicken, bacon and cheese rolls with chilli & garlic sauce (breakfast of champions).

Our car to Hoi An arrived and 0745 and we swam out to the street to get in.

Although the car was several times more expensive than a bus to Hoi An, we were due to stop at a beach, The Marble Mountains and drive over Hai Van Pass. It soon became evident that it was money wasted. Torrential rain pounded the car for almost all of the trip. The beach turned out to be a beach resort where a miserable bunch of octogenerian tourists sat miserably behind their overpriced fruit juices. I’m sure it’s lovely in good weather.

Not long after we hit the Hai Van Pass and discovered our driver did not subscribe to the brake on the straight rule. My finely tuned co-drivers ass felt every slip as the rear of the car wanted to replace the front. We pulled up at the carpark atop the pass and were surrounded by hawkers immediately, one opened my door – I shut it quickly. There was no view – we couldn’t see the other side of the carpark let alone the view from the edge. I’m sure it’s lovely in good weather.

We downed a coffee and hit the road again for the downward leg – similar to the upward leg only with more co-driver braking.

We let our driver know via sign language that we just wanted to get to Hoi An, there was no need to stop at the Marble Mountains. I’m sure they’re lovely in good weather.

We arrived outside out Hotel, The Riverside (vital information that – read on) at midday and were put in a swish room. The balcony was right beside the river but disturbingly, the water had reached the first step up to it.

We walked around the town, although parts of the markets upstream were flooded. There would have been at least 50 shoe shops and 50 more tailors – all making each product to order. With your run of the mill t-shirt, chopstick and buddha statue shops added, the touristy part of town ran three blocks back from the river by a kilometre or so parallel.

A girl at one of the shoe shops where we’d made enquiries took us to an optometrists where I bought a pair of prescription sunglasses for NZ$75. The bloke took my usual glasses and checked the prescription before confirming they would be ready at 1700.

As the rain continued to fall, we decided to look for a bridge upstream from the hotel and would have missed it completely were it not for the two locals on scooters stranded at the top of it. Both ends were under water and the boys on the crest were looking concerned. Small wooden canoe style boats had appeared and were ferrying people around.

We dropped back to the hotel briefly and saw that the river had raised another 6 inches or so and was now up to the next step. The road in front has flooded over the footpath and there were no signs of it letting off.

Hoi An is a bit of a tourist trap – whilst the choice of restaurants was good, each one seemed to be offering the same fare at inflated prices.

We got lucky with the one we ended up in (Bazar Cafe) and had a delicious papaya salad, beef kebabs and seafood noodles. The beer was a new one to us – Larue. It was another light lager – the same as every one we’d tried. The bill came to D360,000 (NZ$24) which was slightly better than we were expecting.

We waded back to the hotel to be told that we would have to go – the staff couldn’t guarantee that our ground floor room would be above water by the next morning. We were told that our accommodation that we had prepaid online in NZ would be paid to our alternative hotel and that we owed the Riverside half a days accommodation. I told the girl that we’d stay – calling the bluff and suggesting we’d go if we didn’t have to pay the half day.

“I checked with my managed and you don’t pay”

We quickly packed and a taxi picked us up from around the corner – he couldn’t stop on our street for fear of the engine taking in water.

Our new accommodation was on the third floor of The Grasslands – about a kilometre or so from the river front and, more importantly, 800 metres from the flood.

Much of our evening had been spent looking online at weather forecasts that suggested thunderstorms for the next five days. We looked into alternatives (even at flights to Cambodia). The rain was showing no signs of letting up… we were in for the long haul.

Hue in a day

Once again we were up at 0630 and to our surprise it wasn’t to the sound of rain on the roof. A sheepish look out on to the street two stories below us showed no sign of the river from last night and there was barely a cloud in the sky.

We took full advantage of it and headed straight to the Citadel on the other side of the river. And no – we didn’t want a cyclo thank you.

We did want a drink before going in so we went back to the “cafe” that we’d been to the day before. We had two coffees, four iced teas and bought a pack of cigarettes – all for D74,000 (NZ$5). We also saw the puppy again and decided to christen him “Din Dins”

Inside the citadel is The Imperial Enclosure – a walled city within the walled city, surrounded by a moat. I could have spent all day just photographing the outside of it but as we’d arrived nice and early we paid the D55,000 (NZ3.50) admission fee for each of us and went in.

My limited vocabulary doesn’t extend far enough to explain what we saw inside… certainly not as much as the photos will once they’re on here. The first noticeable thing was not the sights but the sound. No horns, cars, scooters, hawkers, touts, tour groups… nothing. Tranquility is a relative thing but we’d gone from one extreme to the other in just a few days. Walls of noise in Hanoi to absolutely nothing in Hue.

The whole Imperial Enclosure would be roughly 500 metres x 500 metres but we still managed to spend three and a half hours wandering through the assortment of temples, pagodas, houses and open spaces.

Each place had a plaque detailing the history of the buildings in question making it easy to get an understanding of what each was used for and which member of royalty lived there.

Most were from the 1800s and many were in various states of refurbishment but it rated as one of the highlights of the trip so far. Jo was very patient with me as I plodded along taking a hundred or so photographs.

At 1030 we walked through the gates of the outer citadel and straight into our new favourite cafe again. A cute two year old girl took a liking to Jo and I snapped some photos – she was very excited to see them on the camera screen and kept trying to pose for them. Her nine year old sister taught her how to do the peace sign – a key skill for asians when posing for photos.

The lady who ran the cafe told us they were her friends children and asked if we could post her some of the photos. She wrote down the address of the shop and we promised to send them once we were back in New Zealand.

Not far from the cafe we passed a group of teens on the footpath beside some tiny kids cycles.

“You want to rent cycle?” one of them asked… grinning ear to ear.

The bike he pointed to wouldn’t have come up to my knee. Good sense of humour that.

We walked back towards Hung Vuong Inn again to rebook for an additional night. A tout on the side of the street offered us a ride on his Harley. He’d had Harley Davidson printed on the side of the tanks but couldn’t scratch the Suzuki from the side of the 125cc engine.

Lunch was traditional Vietnamese chicken, ham and cheese bread rolls with a few pork spring rolls.

Just a block down from Hung Vuong Inn is another cafe that we’d walked past several times called Long Cafe. Part of their side business is the rental of scooters to tourists. I couldn’t believe how easy it was. We handed over D100,000 (NZD$7) along with my (expired) drivers licence. In return they handed us two flimsy helmets and a key. That was it – no questions, brief instructions and off ya go son.

Jo jumped on the back with much trepidation. I could literally feel her fear as it was like riding with a lead weight on the back… no leaning into corners or going with the flow… just a very scared passenger. It’s been at least a year since I last rode a bike but it took only a few minutes to get back into the swing of it. It was just like riding a bike.

I employed our road crossing theory – I’m going and you can find your way around me – and it worked well.

We started off riding around 6 kilometres along the north side of the Perfume River to Thien Mu Pagoda. This presented a bit of trouble for the locals as two parking attendants fought over who was going to look after the bike in our absence. We’d already parked up and packed our helmets away when an old lady shouted across from an adjoining carpark… obviously upset that she was going to miss ripping off the tourists on this occasion. The locals found the whole thing exceptionally funny.

The pagoda itself was not in the same league as the ones we had seen earlier in the morning inside The Imperial Enclosure but the real reason I wanted to visit was that it housed the 1956 Austin A95 that the monk Thich Quang Duc drove to Saigon in 1963 where he proceeded to set himself alight in protest against the government policies against buddhists. Whilst this is an incredible historical martyrdom in it’s own right, my interest was aroused as a photograph of the event graces the cover of Rage Against The Machine’s self titled album.

Rain was again threatening but we had errands to run. We collected the photos of the kids that we had taken earlier in the day and delivered them to our friends in the roadside cafe.

For the next hour or so we cruised (very cooly) arount the banks of The Perfume River.

We returned out ride and booked a private car to take us to Hoi An at 0800 the following day. The US$60 price tag was much higher than the US$4 each it would have cost to do the 4 hour 150km drive in a bus but there are several points of interest along the route that we would have missed had we taken a bus.

As the rain fell, we sat back in our room at Hung Vuong Inn and I took the opportunity to back up the 1000 odd photos I’d taken.

We feasted at the cafe downstairs on chicken curry, a beef, prawn and squid hotpot and another pork, prawn and bean sprout rice pancake. With two cokes, a beer and a mango shake, the price of D230,000 (NZ$23) was unbeatable. We were in our room listening to the dulcet tones of an air conditioner, a wall fan and rain on the roof by 1930.