(These events took place January 4, 2009.  Cat Ba Island to Hai Phong to Thai Binh.  130 km.)

Very early in the morning, my new friend Zoom and I left the hotel on Cat Ba Island where I stayed and he worked and drove the Fonda 30 km to catch the high speed hydrofoil to the mainland port of Hai Phong.  Zoom had decided to accompany me to Hai Phong for two reasons: to help me find a reputable garage to fix the brake and gas leak problems on my motorbike and to show me the wild and wacky animal market whose reputation for interesting and illegal animal sales spread far beyond the port itself.  

I wasn’t sure what we would see at the animal market, but no matter how interesting or exotic, the thing that held the greatest fascination for Zoom were the chicken fights.  He loves every aspect of chicken fights and was anxious to introduce me the “sport.”  “Some chickens have good kung fu,” he said in all seriousness.  I confess I wasn’t too keen on seeing two chickens maul each other to death, but learning what exactly constituted “good chicken kung fu” did intrigue me a bit.  

The hydrofoil that transported us to Hai Phong was at the opposite end of the spectrum from the slow, clunky, old-lady-and-vegetable-packed boat that the Fonda and I had taken from Hai Phong to arrive in Cat Ba in the first place.  This boat was new, smooth and fast.  I would be willing to swear on a stack of bibles that once the hydrofoil started, it never touched the water but merely hovered above it during the thirty minute ride.  This was light-speed transportation compared to the three hour slow boat I’d taken previously. 

During my five day stay on Cat Ba, I had been giving much thought and energy to my recently broken heart.  Eric and I had discussed the idea of rejoining forces for the motorbike tour after taking a few days apart, both in the Ha Long Bay area.  After taking that time, however, I knew I still needed time and space to allow my heart to fully heal and sent Eric an email to that effect.  As I flew across the water headed toward Hai Phong, I counseled myself to take this opportunity of high speed travel to leave my broken heart on Cat Ba and not to look back.  And for once, I took my own counsel.  

the Fonda on the operating table

Zoom and I arrived at the port about 15 km outside of Hai Phong and started making our way into town.  We were happily discussing chicken kung fu and what new dish Zoom would introduce me to for breakfast when the Fonda apparently grew bored with our discussion and quit.  Just like that.  She wouldn’t restart either.  Uppity Chinese bike.  

We pushed her about 1 km to the closest xe may (Pronuouced “say my” or “see my” depending which part of the country you’re in.  In case you forgot, that means mechanic. Don’t worry, after a few more blog entries, I’m sorry to say that you’ll recognize “xe may” without prompting.) who gave the battery a jump start and sent us on our way for a measly 5,000 dong ($0.30).  Five minutes later, the Fonda again voiced her objections.  I didn’t have the patience to find a xe may jump start every five minutes so instead we flagged down a small truck and loaded the Fonda up in the back for a tow.  We didn’t have straps to tie her securely into place so the truck driver took it slow, but I held my breath with each turn or big bump that we encountered.  

I let my breath out when we pulled up in front of a real garage.  This place practically had a pit crew of mechanics on staff.  They had about seven platforms which I called the motorbike operating tables and, as Zoom had promised, they stocked parts upon parts upon parts.  Hallelujah!  I had entered motorbike mechanic heaven!  Surely if anyone could fix the won’t-start-won’t-keep-going problem, it was these guys.  I felt great confidence as they rolled the Fonda up onto the operating table and began to look inside.

While we were waiting for the diagnosis, Zoom and I walked across the street to grab some breakfast.  For this meal, he wanted to introduce me to a Hai Phong specialty.  Noodle soup is a favorite of the Vietnamese for breakfast.  Most of the time, it contains chunks of pork or beef along with the noodles and broth.  Hai Phong, however, is apparently famous for a type of noodle soup called banh da cua (pronounced “bine da qua”) in which ground up crab meat is used for the broth and there are fish chunks in the soup instead of pork.

banh da cua

There are certain protocols to eating in Vietnam.  The first thing you do once your food arrives is to take the toilet paper, kleenex or squares of wax paper sitting on the table in lieu of real napkins and wipe down your chopsticks and your spoon.  Failure to do so will draw disapproving looks from fellow diners.  One doesn’t eat noodle soup of any kind without first squeezing in lime juice and then adding chili sauce and garlic sauce.  I was well practiced because of my experience with pho and Zoom nodded his approval as I observed the pre-noodle-slurping ritual.  With chopsticks in one hand and a Vietnamese spoon (like the short fat Chinese spoons) in the other, I dug into my banh da cua.  Oh man was this ever good!  It was spicy and flavorful and I garnered brownie points from the locals at the communal table when I pronounced it to be ngon (delicious) - at least that’s how I interpreted their giggles.

Bellies full, Zoom and I waddled back over to the garage.  The Fonda was still being examined so we pulled up chairs and waited.  Zoom took the opportunity to take a hit from the thuoc lao (pronounced took now), a tobacco’d water pipe that is ubiquitous in North Vietnam, but is mysteriously absent the further south one travels in the country.  Every restaurant, tea shop and apparently garage in the North have one.  They are about two feet long, three inches around and made of wood.  The pipes are kept in a bucket under a table and are considered communal and available for anyone to use.  The tobacco is always complimentary.   Zoom tells me that the effects are quite strong and that you can get drunk from smoking, but the buzz only lasts for 5 or 10 minutes.   I tried smoking one once, but it had no effect on me.  

After a bit, the mechanics announced that they had figured out the Fonda’s problem.  I was never clear what the original diagnosis was, but mechanics are all Greek to me anyway (a deficiency which I plan to remedy once I’m back home).  Zoom seemed satisfied that they were onto the right solution so we hopped on moto-taxis in search of some good displays of chicken kung fu while the repairs were underway.  

Because of all the delays due to the Fonda’s temper tantrums, it was already 1 pm by the time we arrived at the animal market.  As we wandered through,  I saw many different sizes of turtles for sale; some for pets and some for soup. There were ducks of many ages and sizes ranging from eggs to adults and all stages in between.  In fact, it seemed that all of the animals for sale came in all stages and sizes.  After five minutes, Zoom announced that we had missed the best of the market which starts around 6 am and ends by 11.  “Stupid motorbike,” I sputtered.  “It’s Chinese,” he responded.  

ducks of all ages and stages

Against all odds, Zoom held out hope that a few chicken fights might still be underway.  I was secretly relieved to see that all the winners of the morning’s matches were already tucked under their proud owners arms or locked away in their bamboo baskets all on their way home.  Disappointed, Zoom settled for showing me the fighting chickens that were for sale.  As in the case of the ducks and turtles, people were selling baby fighting chicks that still had their fuzz, the molting adolescents (puberty is apparently ugly no matter your genus, phylum or species) and the full fledged adults.  

In the same way that many American men like to flex their muscles by displaying a knowledge of cars or sports, Vietnamese men take great pride in knowing how to select a good fighting chicken.  At first, Zoom and I observed the testosterone-charged man-meets-chicken machismo from the sidelines, but after 5 minutes, he couldn’t stand it anymore and had to jump into the fray.  It’s just one more thing about Asia that makes me laugh.  

Zoom reluctantly dragged himself away from his beloved chickens to show me the remains of the market.  Puppies, kittens, cats and dogs galore were for sale.  Given the overcrowded conditions of many of the baskets and cages, I was at first afraid that my furry favorites were being sold for that night’s dinner.  Only ten minutes before when we were still in the chicken section, I heard Zoom say, “Look. Someone just killed a cat.” I let that go in one ear, out the other and refused to turn my head in the direction he was pointing.  I couldn’t escape from the sound of a meat cleaver on the chopping block though. Apparently and oh-so-thankfully, the cats and dogs I saw in the cages were all being sold as pets (Or maybe Zoom just took pity when he discovered my hypersensitivity to these particular tail wagging and paw licking critters.  If so, I was happy to believe the lie.) 

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according to the seller, this chicken has good kung fu. lol

After the cats and dogs, we saw monkeys and many many different kinds of birds.  To my knowledge, none of the animals I saw were endangered or being sold illegally.  But as Zoom had pointed out, we were catching the market’s dregs so it’s possible that the rarer animals had already been sold or taken back home.  

Eventually, all the sellers packed up their wares to head home so we took our cue to head back to the garage and check on the results of the Fonda’s outpatient surgery.  The mechanics reported that she was ready to go.  Starter and keeper-going thingy (Yes, yes! I recognize my deficiency here!) were fixed.  Brakes were repaired.  The gas leak wasn’t fixable, but they advised that if I only put 40 to 50,000 dong worth of gas ($3) at a time instead of filling the tank up to the top, the leak wouldn’t occur.  Fine - I could live with that.  The repairs totaled 450,000 dong (about $26).  

It was now 3 pm.  I had been planning to drive 150 km that day.  There was no way that I would make it to Ninh Binh before dark. 

“You know, I have a few days off from work,” Zoom started. “After all that’s happened with the bike and the late time, I’m concerned about you driving to Ninh Binh on your own.  How about if I come with you that far and then I’ll just take a bus a home?  If we leave now, we won’t make it before dark, but I think we can get there tonight.  What do you think?”  

“I think you’re a doll, Zoom.  That sounds great.” 

So we loaded up the Fonda and headed out of town.  Five km from the mechanic, the Fonda let us know that all was still not completely right.  Ugh, ugh, ugh!  We headed back to the mechanic and, an hour later, with a few more parts changed out, we were on our way one more time.  

Riding on the motorbike instead of driving was quite advantageous from a photographic standpoint.  From the back of the motorbike, I was able to photograph so much more than if I had been driving.  The everyday life types of things I like to document often involve people. Because people rarely sit still, most of these compositions come and go in a matter of seconds … often longer than it takes to stop a motorbike and grab the camera.  Because I never had to put the camera down, I was able to capture many more of these moments.  

someone's getting a new washing machine

Zoom was fabulous to ride with.  He had a keen sense of the kinds of things I liked to photograph and not only pointed potential subjects out to me, but drove in such a way that maximized my opportunity to capture them.  His absolutely thrived when either of us spotted an overloaded motorbike carrying interesting cargo.  “I can catch them for you!” he would exclaim like a happy child. “I can drive very fast!”  

After a few practice rounds of “catching motorbikes,” we became quite a team.  He knew that I preferred to get one shot from behind, one from the side and one from the front.  He learned how much distance I needed between our bike and the subject bike for an optimal shot and, unless safety kept him from doing so, did his best to accommodate me.  He also went above and beyond by talking to the drivers as we approached.  He would not only get them to look at us, but whatever jokes he told them often made them smile for the camera.  

Zoom enjoyed reviewing the day’s photos with me in the evenings and early on noticed that I would often catch the Fonda’s mirrors in the corners of my shots.  I was touched the next day that he began folding the mirrors in when I was shooting so that they weren’t an obstruction to my shots.  He seemed to take as much joy in helping me get the shots as I got from taking them.  When he would ask, “Did you get it?” what he was really saying was, “Did WE get it?”  He never lost patience on the occasions when I told him I didn’t and asked for another pass.  He would just rev the engine and catch the subject bike all over again.  This was the most fun I’d had behind the camera since I arrived in Vietnam.  Half of the fun was being able to control the shot from a moving bike more than I had when hiring non-English speaking moto drivers, but I think just as much of the fun came from having a partner with whom I could enjoy it.

Zoom also loves to sing. Apparently, the Vietnamese have folk songs about many parts of the country.  As we drove toward Ninh Binh, he sang songs to me about that province.  I couldn’t understand a word of them, but I thoroughly enjoyed hearing them as well as the sweetness of the moment as he sang without inhibition.  

a very heavy looking load of bricks

Although it was a surprise to Zoom-the-perpetual-optimist, it was no surprise to me that, leaving Hai Phong at 4 pm, we did not make it all the way to Ninh Binh that first night.  We did make it a respectable 100 km to Thai Binh though, arriving at 8 pm.  The freezing cold, the dark and the long drive zapped our energy and it was all we could do to drag ourselves to dinner after thawing ourselves out with hot showers.  

I’m convinced that riding a motorbike adds a 20 degree wind chill factor to the actual temperature … and the temperatures in North Vietnam in early January were already cold.   To counter the biting air, I routinely biked wearing three pairs of pants, two pairs of socks, boots, three shirts, a sweater, two winter coats and leather gloves. Seriously.  I looked like the Michelin man, but I didn’t care.  Even then, I would still get cold. 

Virtually all Vietnamese homes, restaurants, shops and hotels are all open-air … even in winter.  They don’t heat their homes or building interiors - probably because they can’t afford to.  With the temperatures and wind chill factor so cold, heat and the ability to get warm became a major point of interest and priority for me.  Although many hotels would tell me their rooms were heated, in reality they only had air conditioners whose thermostats could be set at 30 degrees celcius (that’s 86 F).  Theoretically, that should work but try running your a/c at 86 and see if it feels the same as running your heater at the same temperature.  It doesn’t work.  Hot water became my best friend over the next month until I reached Hoi An.  Fortunately for our friendship, Zoom also detested the cold and shared my sensitivity to it.  He was equally adamant about checking the hot water in a room before we actually agreed to take it as many hotels will often say they have hot water, but don’t.  (My insistence on checking such things has driven some people crazy in the past.)  

in the Vietnamese trinity, Uncle Ho rules

Luckily, the hotel we found in Thai Binh had water so hot, I could only tolerate what they considered “warm.”  After we had defrosted from our bike ride, we went out to find the only remaining restaurant open in this tiny little town.  It happened that the family that owned the place was Catholic, evidenced by the pictures of Jesus and Mary on their wall.  I couldn’t help but notice that in between those pictures and raised slightly above them hung a picture of Ho Chi Minh.  I giggled at what I dubbed the Vietnamese trinity.  Truly, Uncle Ho is considered a god here.  

The Vietnamese are amazingly friendly and curious people.  It was the rare occasion that Zoom and I could enter a restaurant or coffee shop and leave without having been invited to join a group for dinner, tea, coffee, wine or at least just chatter.  I don’t know if that would have been the case if Zoom were traveling by himself or with a Vietnamese woman, but people were definitely curious about the foreigner in their midst.  Zoom later told me that traveling with me meant the end of full meals for him as he invariably had to talk for and translate to me.  

It had begun earlier that day when we stopped for a “bum break” and the family that owned the coffee shop engaged us in conversation.  That night, while we were waiting for our dinner, the Catholic family entertained us.  After asking all kinds of questions about me, the man told us that he had served in the Vietnam military in Cambodia for ten years and told us stories about his travels there.  The lady and her sister kept asking  jokingly (I think!) for my coat.  The Vietnamese holiday, Tet, was fast approaching and getting new clothes for Tet is considered to bring good luck for the year. 

The Vietnamese are also very tactile.  Even grown adults, including men, will touch my hair inspecting each braid.  They’re fascinated by all things foreign to them … my hair, my skin, my full bottom.  They can’t seem to resist patting my bottom (this is primarily the women although one man apparently found it irresistible too).  One woman even felt up my breasts before I knew what was happening!  It’s all in good fun and laughter accompanies it all.  I’m fine with the hair touching and cheek pinching (as in my face cheeks), but beyond that gets a little weird for me. 

After a bit of chatting and hair inspection, our dinner arrived and Zoom and I chowed down on buffalo, frog and eel.  It was a delightful and different start to a new kind of adventure.

Total cost of motorbike repairs to date:  1,180,000 Dong ($69)

Number of road days without motorbike repairs:  0/6

If you’d like to see more photos from the road and of the Hai Phong animal market, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

If you’d like to visit the Hai Phong animal market and learn about “good chicken kung fu,”  click here  to see my video.

I came to learn that traveling with Ngueyn Manh Dung (pronounced When Mine Zoom) is always an adventure, particularly of the gastronomic type.  The first dinner I shared with him on Cat Ba Island foreshadowed the experiences I was to have over the next six weeks with this delightfully sweet 35 year old Vietnamese man.   

Zoom, as he’s come to be known on Cat Ba, takes great delight in introducing people to Vietnamese language, culture and especially to the food.  The Vietnamese who live in the South, while certainly no Westerners, are considerably more conservative eaters than their countrymen in the North.  Zoom told me early on about a Vietnamese saying that I’ve come to believe holds true more in the North than in the South:  “Chu cut voi la xoan” which translates “We eat everything except poisonous leaves and shit.”  Having traveled with him extensively, I can attest to this fact.

We first ate dinner together when I treated him as a thank you for coming to my aid in rescuing my motorbike from the hands of an inept mechanic.  During that dinner, Zoom delighted in not only selecting our still swimming seafood, but introducing me to them before they met their ends.  In addition to Joe the Fish, we also ate lobster-size shrimp, snails and clams that squirted water at us protesting their fate.  During dinner, I noticed six large jars of liquid with various objects inside sitting on a counter.  I asked what they were and Zoom became like a kid at Christmas.  

“These are rice wine with different things inside,” he explained.  The “different things inside” were starfish, seahorse & snake (all 3 in one jar), moldy clams, scorpions and tree roots (again, an interesting combo), shark fins, seal penises and last, but certainly not least, goat penises with a bonus goat embryo.  There were 20 goat penises in the jar and one lonely embryo.  They’d all obviously been there for a while because, although they weren’t moldy like the clams, the flesh was only a few shades away from being out-and-out gray and particles from the tissue had separated from the organs and were floating around like a million not-so-brilliant stars in the galaxy of wine.   “We believe drinking this makes the man strong if you know what I mean,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.  “You have to try some of this!”  

"baby goat wine" and "snake wine"

“Well, I’m not a man and don’t really have any need to be strong, if you know what I mean,” I replied.  “C’mon!” he continued. “This is the only chance you’ll ever have!”  If Zoom didn’t know my achilles heal, then he certainly made a lucky and incredibly accurate guess.  I love to try new things.  It takes me a little more time to work up the courage to try some things than others, but if I’m faced with the prospect that I’ll never be able to do it again, that will almost always push me over the edge.  And that’s how I came to drink goat penis wine, timidly I admit, but I did it.  

Oddly, my timidity was caused less by the fact that there were reproductive organs in the wine than by the fact that any almost gray, particle-losing tissue was present, regardless of where on the body it came from.  I made myself ignore the millions of little particles and chugged my half-shot glass size shot glass of the stuff.  Miraculously, it didn’t taste any different from the non-penised rice wine I’d had at the Hai Phong wedding a week before - which isn’t to say I liked it.  I wasn’t crazy about that wine from the wedding either.  It’s pretty strong alcohol (40%) and burns on the way down.  It doesn’t taste exactly like vodka, but that’s probably the closest I can come in describing the taste.  After overdoing it with vodka shots on my twenty-first birthday oh so many years ago, I’ve never particularly liked shooting vodka either.  But there it was … down the hatch.  I could now one more more oddity to the list of weird things I’ve eaten or drunk in Southeast Asia. 

Zoom wasn’t going to let me off that easily.  He didn’t quite feel victorious enough with just the one shot it seems.  “Let’s do one more!” he said excitedly, already pouring me another before I could say anything.  Let’s just say that for many years through college and afterwards, I was no stranger to alcohol.  Although I’m not much of a drinker these days, I somehow managed to retain my tolerance for the stuff and for a little gal, I can hold my drinks with the best of them.  So it was less the effect than the taste that I objected to.  But what the heck? I’d already had one and it hadn’t killed me.  I do like to be a good sport.  

another "Zoom special" ... congealed goat's blood

The next night we ate dishes with buffalo, frog and eel.  Zoom seemed to make it his personal mission to make sure that I not only ate a variety of Vietnamese food, but that the variety included animals that were foreign to me or at least unfamiliar parts of beasts already in my diet.  In hindsight, I can now say that buffalo, frog and eel were pretty tame.

Of course I tried to do what I could to introduce Zoom to America too, or at least to correct his many misimpressions of it.  One of those misimpressions was that it was the normal everyday occurrence for American wives to murder their husbands.  “I see it on Desperate Housewives all the time,” he explained.  Wow!  How to undo that propaganda?  My favorite misimpression, however, was that brilliant American scientists had somehow designed and managed to build an invisible shield over the country that would protect it from missiles and various other attacks.  “Do many Vietnamese people believe this Zoom?” I asked after I picked myself up off the floor.  “Everyone thinks this,” he said, completely serious.  

With beliefs like that, I felt like I was starting in the red trying to answer his questions about what America was like.  I spent much time trying to discover his beliefs about my country and to correct the ones that were as outlandish as those first two.  I’m not sure he ever completely believed me.  There are many ways in which our two countries are alike, but just as many in which we are different.  I realized that, in the same way that I love to photograph everyday life in Southeast Asia, I needed to do the same in America and bring the pictures with me next time to show my Asian friends who were curious to learn about the non-TV version of the stars and stripes.  Without such props, I might as well be discussing a different planet … one with an invisible protection shield. 

January 3, 2009

8:15 am

Who has a copy of Robert Pirsig’s book “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?” I need one immediately! Regretfully, I approached my motorbike purchase with about as much due diligence as I had when renting bikes in the past which constitutes a simple ride around the block.  Against my better judgment, I did not take it to a mechanic to have it inspected as I would have when buying a used car.  I didn’t even personally inspect the body for scratches or scrapes to see if it had been in an accident. I failed to notice that my speedometer didn’t work. Hell, I didn’t even check the mileage (or in this case, kilometerage).  

At the time, I had a boyfriend who had purchased his motorbike with no more care either and who I perceived to be overly anxious to hit the road.  He had scoffed at my idea of taking either bike to a mechanic prior to purchase and, like a schoolgirl, I was anxious to please him.  So I stupidly allowed myself to fall prey to a bit of peer pressure (What was I? Thirteen years old again?) and now was paying the price.

Only four days of actual road time into my motorbike trip and I was at the mechanic AGAIN.  Third time.  The first two times were because my bike, after running along just fine for an hour or two, simply failed to start after I cut the engine to get gas or check a map.  I ended up buying a new battery which I’m still not certain is the answer to the problem, but with language barriers, it will have to do until the next breakdown.  I’m currently having a gas leak repaired and the odd sounds coming occasionally from my front wheel have become as continuous, loud and demanding as a hungry, screaming two year old child.

My bike was all packed up to begin Day 5 of my roadtrip to Ninh Binh.  Naturally, before hitting the road, I stopped at the petrol station to fill up … and a good portion of the contents I’d just put in were now pouring out all over the ground below.  As I pulled away from the petrol station wondering whether I could make it the 150 km I had mapped out for the day’s drive, the front wheel scraped, screeched and made horribly angry sounds as offensive as nails on a chalkboard … times one hundred.  Damn it all to hell!  There was no way that I was going to be able to ignore this.  I needed to get to a mechanic immediately.  

I’m studying Vietnamese in an effort to be able to communicate during my time here.  At this point, I’ve picked up a few phrases and am able to read a few words.  Sadly, one of the phrases that I easily recognize on sight now is “xe may” which is, of course, Vientamese for motorbike mechanic.  There are “xe mays” everywhere in Vietnam … which will probably turn out to be a good thing for me if the Fonda continues its war of aggression at its historical pace.  So it didn’t take me long to find one … only about 5 blocks.  Thankfully, when he took the bike for a spin, I heard the wheel/brakes continue to make the same grinding sound that had alarmed me so at least I didn’t have to worry about the age old problem of saying “I swear, it’s making this sound …” and of course it won’t utter a peep for the guy who can actually diagnose and fix the problem … particularly since I haven’t yet mastered being able to say “I swear, it’s making this sound” in Vietnamese.  I’m still working out the tonal arrangements of “How are you?”

Through sign language and silly gushing sounds, I think I was able to communicate also that petrol was leaking out of the tank and onto the ground.  At any rate, I communicated enough that, as I sit and type this, my little Fonda is in pieces all over the mechanic’s garage, stripped down to her skeletal frame and probably feeling as cold as I am.  

I am aware, of course, that by pulling out my laptop and writing while waiting, I’ve probably doubled or tripled the cost of my bill.  Prices in Vietnam, and Southeast Asia in general, are “flexible” and seem to be primarily based on perceived ability to pay.  I’m certain that the sight of my laptop, in addition to my white skin, has just upped my perceived payment abilities astronomically.  Luckily, a standard motorbike fix runs only a few dollars and writing is good therapy for me; therapy which I greatly need in this moment of frustration.  So I’ve thrown caution to the wind.  I figure whatever extra I’m charged I’ll attribute to therapy rather than motorbike repairs.  

10:30 am

Playing and interacting with the kids here is also good therapy for me; not as productive for my blog, but certainly good therapy.  Within thirty minutes of sitting down and starting to type, the mechanics’ two kids and their two friends surrounded me.  At first, they sat in tiny chairs beside me watching curiously as I typed on my laptop.  We exchanged smiles and hellos, but my linguistic skills don’t extend much beyond that at this point.  Kids being kids, however, they’re not daunted by language barriers in the way adults sometimes are.  They began chattering away at me in Vietnamese and smatterings of English.  Children are great language teachers and our play turned into a mutual linguistics lesson; Vietnamese for me and English for them.  

For the past two hours, they’ve helped me learn my numbers.  Their mother got into the action when she brought out children’s books with animals and vegetables in both English and Vietnamese.  The girls, aged 11 and 14, were particularly interested in the language lesson.  The boy who’s about 6 years old is more interested in jumping around on my luggage and playing with the American and Vietnamese flags I carry with me.  

Time for lunch.

11:00 am

Back from lunch.  This mechanic is brilliant!  It appears that he’s solved the gas leak issue AND has discovered that I have a starter  problem (or rather a “keeper-going” in my high tech motorbike linquistics) too.  He’s not trying to recharge my battery or sell me a new one so I think he’s onto the heart of the matter.  Hopefully he’s also brilliant enough to fix it.  And then onto the scraping wheel/brake issue …

12:00 noon

Starter/keeper-going is still presenting a problem.  Looks like I won’t make it to Ninh Binh today.  And an old man has seated himself next to me.  He’s saying things I don’t understand.  He keeps reaching out and grabbing my hands and pinching my chin.  He’s weirding me out a bit.  Thankfully, he can’t resist giving his opinion on my motorbike issues and has gone to tell the mechanic his business.

12:45 pm

I’ve lost complete confidence in this mechanic.  Did I really describe him as brilliant just one hour and forty-five minutes earlier? He keeps requesting payment from me and trying to give me the bike, indicating that the Fonda is fixed, good as new, but now problems exist now that didn’t before.  Ugh!  The Fonda, which started just fine when I brought it to him, will now barely start.  As I try to head uphill to test drive it, the engine sputters and dies within fifteen feet.  How in the world can he possibly be trying to tell me the bike is fixed and ready to go?  I think the problem is the spark plug (I had a similar problem in Bali and a $4 spark plug solved the problem just fine), but the word for that isn’t in my pinky-thick dictionary. I try to draw a picture of one, but can’t remember exactly how they look.  I used to weld them together to make business card holders, but now their exact appearance eludes me.  I had intended to buy an extra before leaving Saigon, but in my rush to get out of town, I let that detail slip.  Shit shit shit … and other expletives.

1:15 pm

I go back to my hotel, looking for a guy named Zoom who works there and who speaks really good English to come and translate for me and hopefully take up my cause.  He’s not there, so I recruit another guy whose English isn’t as good, but it’s better than the mechanic’s (non-existant) and he seems to understand the concept of a spark plug.  We hike back to the mechanic’s, but my escort isn’t much of an advocate. He does at least get the mechanic to replace the spark plug.  Turns out, however, that I’m not much of a motorbike mechanic.  Even with the new spark plug, the Fonda still fails to start and stay running properly.  I’m my best advocate and the mechanic realizes that the current condition of the bike is unacceptable.  He clearly has no idea what to do to solve the problem but goes back to work trying this and that .  

2:30 pm

The Fonda is still not driveable.  I walk down to the rock climbing gym hoping to find my friend Tim who has toured Vietnam extensively by motorbike.  I’m certain that he’ll know what the problem is or at least have some ideas.  Probably with the amount of time he’s spent in Vietnam, he probably speaks Vietnamese too.  Not there.  Drat.  On my way back to the mechanic’s I pass my hotel and find Zoom standing in the doorway, smoking a cigarette.  

“Zoom!” I exclaimed and excitedly launched into the day’s events in such rapid-fire English I’m sure all he probably heard was what Charlie Brown heard when his teacher talked, “Muah, mah mah mah mah muah mah mah.”  “Slow down,” he said calmly  “What’s the problem?”  Right.  I composed myself and retold my story in a much more understandable fashion.  Zoom became incensed on my behalf (Excellent! Just the reaction I was hoping for.) and said, “Why didn’t you come to the hotel for help sooner?”  Pfffft, I thought.  But off we went on his motorbike.  

When I first met Zoom, I thought that he had a tough, almost mean look about him.  He always wears a black leather jacket that added to this impression. (I failed to notice at the time that stitched on the front were the words “Sport Girl” which of course made me realize that he wore the jacket out of necessity, not to establish a certain look.)  Now having gotten to know him very well, I can’t imagine how I ever thought he looked mean as I’m now convinced that every bone in his body is made of 100 percent sugar.  He’s always smiling and was from the first time I met him when he invited me to join him and some other hotel employees for drinks and karaoke.  At any rate, however, a tough Vietnamese guy was what I saw at the time and a tough Vietnamese guy was exactly what I needed.

When we arrived at the xe may, Zoom calmly discussed the matter with the man.  After five minutes of the mechanic sputtering, Zoom offered some of his own ideas about the solution to the problem.  He then got a semi-stern look on his face and I imagined he said something to the effect of “You have only a short time to fix this bike or else.”  Of course I have no idea what he actually said.  Knowing him as I do now, it was probably more like, “Good luck. We’ll leave you alone to work on it so we’re not in your way and will come back in a while.”  And I probably imagined the stern look as well.  

“We come back here at 4:00,” Zoom told me.  “Go rest and relax for right now.  You obviously can’t leave the island tonight, so I’ll get a new room ready for you and will bring your bag up.  Just take it easy.  You’ve had a hard day.”  Geez.  What a guy.

7:00 pm

Four and a half hours, four mechanics, several arguments and 200,000 dong (about $12) later, the Fonda is back in my hands.  She’s starting and running again, although she still has the gas leak (turns out it wasn’t fixed afterall) and the crunching wheel/brake sound that I originally brought her in for.  In other words, I’ve spent money, energy and emotion and nothing’s changed except that I’m $12 poorer.  The twelve bucks went to some later mechanics to fix the things the first “brilliant” mechanic broke.  Sure, in America we would have tried to get the first mechanic to pay to fix what he broke, but you can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip, it’s only $12 and this ain’t America, Toto. 

Zoom offered to accompany me to Hai Phong, the mainland, the next day to help me find a reputable garage to repair the gas leak and brakes.  He was also going to take the opportunity to show me Hai Phong’s animal market at which there were chicken fights (his favorite) and many exotic, and probably illegal, animals for sale.  

To thank him for his help, I treated him to a seafood dinner at the same restaurant the two Vietnamese couples had introduced me to the night before.  Cousin Joe the Fish got sent to the frying pan afterall. 

hiking in Cat Ba National Park

(December 30 - January 2) The weather forecast for my first full day on Cat Ba Island was overcast with scattered showers. I had heard that it was best to visit surrounding Ha Long Bay on a sunny day because the clouds often obscured the beautiful limestone cliffs, the main feature for which the Bay is famous. Accordingly, I opted to postpone my tour of Ha Long Bay for the following day and instead arranged to do an all-day hike in Cat Ba’s national park that included one of my trip goals: climbing a mountain. I was told that group hikes through the park could include groups as large as 15 which didn’t sound especially peaceful to me. So I booked a solo guide for my hike.

I was waiting for my guide to pick me up at 7:30 am as arranged when a large tour bus pulled up in from of my hotel. An older man came into the lobby. “This man is your guide,” the desk clerk told me. I followed him outside and he motioned for me to get on the bus. I obeyed, but of course a million thoughts began racing through my head. Why, when I had arranged a solo hike, was I on a bus with about 40 other people? Then I began to notice that many of the Vietnamese women on the bus were wearing high heels. Now Vietnamese women wear high heels almost all the time. They go places in them that I would never dream of wearing stillettos. But hiking a mountain??!! Surely there must be some mistake. I must be on the wrong bus. “Are you going hiking?” I asked the stilettoed woman sitting next to me. She didn’t speak English. Learning to suspend my curiosity and my desire to be in control has been one of the greatest learning experiences I’ve had while traveling throughout Asia.

After a thirty minute bus ride, my guide got off and motioned for me to follow. Two other Vietnamese men and three Western women also got off. The bus rumbled on and left us at a trailhead. Long story short (which after 6 months you must know I’m not good at), my solo hike turned into a group one, but at least the group was small and the company fairly enjoyable.  

most water in Vietnam still comes from a well

We hiked up and down for about five hours before stopping at a small village in the middle of a number of rice fields for lunch. Just before we finished our hike, our guide announced that we had just hiked 14 km, up and down three mountains and across the width of the island. THREE mountains? I had only signed up for one. Three was fine with me … except that I never got the spectacular views that I expected from summiting a mountain … or frankly even the knowledge that I HAD summited a mountain, much less THREE. Given that we accomplished all of that in 5 hours, I think the word “mountain” must be used loosely on Cat Ba. Although I got some great exercise, I don’t quite feel like I’ve yet climbed a mountain as I had envisioned it so I’m going to refrain from checking that one off my list.

Lunch in the village was lovely. I tried out the little Vietnamese that I knew on the family hosting us, probably butchering every word (the night before, Chung and his family had taught me how to say delicious, how are you and good bye expanding my vocabulary from mere hello and thank you) and they were delighted. People in these Southeast Asian countries are so gracious. If you make any effort to speak their language, they act as though you are fluent and praise you up and down. As usual, my Western dining companions/fellow hikers, although nice gals, had not ventured beyond the restaurants serving Western food and were pleasantly surprised at how delicious the homey Vietnamese food was.

woman carrying firewood

After lunch, we hiked some more (this time all on flat ground) to the boat which would cruise through Ha Long Bay and take us back to our side of Cat Ba Island. The walk was lovely, cutting through villages and rice fields surrounded by mountains. I saw people using water buffalo to plow their rice fields and a woman carrying two large baskets of firewood using a long piece of wood that stretched across her shoulders and suspended the two baskets. Although most of the houses in the village were made of concrete, about one third were made of mud and straw. I don’t think any of the houses had running water, but instead utilized a well. Almost all the houses, however, including the mud and straw ones, had a TV as evidenced by the old fashioned antennas strung up in a variety of ways outside each house.

The villagers were all quick to either initiate or return smiles and greetings. I caught one old woman as she emerged from behind her house carrying an armload of firewood. When I said hello to her, she smiled so big her face couldn’t contain it. She threw down her load of firewood and ran to hug and kiss me like I was a long lost daughter. She invited me and the German woman I was walking with into her house as did many of the other villagers. At that point, I was greatly disappointed that my solo hike had become a group hike because all the rest of the group along with my guide had walked on ahead, leaving me unable to accept any of the friendly villagers’ invitations. What I didn’t know at the time is that over the next month I would have an abundance of similar invitations as well as the time to accept and enjoy them.  

a typical Cat Ba landscape

The hike became more and more beautiful as we got closer to the harbor that housed our boat. The water was green and crystal clear at the same time. The mountains that surrounded it (probably the same size “mountains” I had hiked that day) reflected in pools that were so still they looked like glass. The sun even peaked out a time or two and everything felt absolutely perfect.

We caught a sailboat back to the side of Cat Ba Island where the hotels were located. I had seen many pictures of Ha Long Bay but could still scarcely believe the beauty of the limestone karsts emerging from the water in craggy, interesting shapes that, like clouds, which simply invited comparisons to animals and people.

In addition to its beauty, Ha Long Bay has a colorful history. Difficult as it is to imagine, during the 1970s, this beautiful water park was once stocked with mines, placed there by the American military during the war. Thankfully, one year later most of the mines were removed although some undiscovered ones still remain and pose threats to shipping and tourism.

me in Ha Long Bay

Pirates roamed the Bay as recently as the mid 1980’s. During that time, many exceedingly poor Vietnamese families, starving and desperate, made world headlines as “the boat people.” They sold all their belongings for gold, packed into small fishing junks and sailed, among many places, through Ha Long Bay headed for international shipping lanes, hoping to be rescued and taken to Hong Kong, China or anywhere where they could find food to eat. These boats were easy prey for pirates who would attack them, kill the people and steal their gold. As the boat people either resettled into refugee camps or met varying other fates, the pirates who preyed on them gradually disappeared as well.

The Vietnamese are very imaginative, poetic people as well as great storytellers. The say that they are the prodigy of a dragon king and a phoenix queen. Ha Long means “descending dragon” and the local legend of Ha Long Bay is that many years ago, when their ancestors were fighting off prospective invaders from the north, a family of dragons descended upon the bay to help the Vietnamese people defend their land. The dragons spat out pearls and jade which turned into all of the thousands of stone islands. The islands created a stronghold which permitted the ancestors to force out the invaders. The dragons were enchanted with their beautiful creation and decided to stay in the Ha Long Bay area. I was enchanted too and decided that the 1 hour cruise through the Bay that afternoon wasn’t enough. I booked a second, full day cruise two days later.  

stunning Ha Long Bay

That evening after the hike, Chung came to check on me to see how it went. (I came to learn that the Vietnamese are very protective of their guests in this way and Chung had come to regard me as his family’s personal guest.) We went for a drink and ran into the girls who had been on the hike with me so we all had drinks together. Chung, ever hospitable and gracious, extended an invitation to all of us to come to his house the following evening, New Year’s Eve, for a crab dinner. “We can all meet here at 5:00 and go to the market together. I’ll teach you how to buy crabs. Then we can go to my village and have dinner with my family. We’ll be finished by 8:00 and then you can go party as I’m sure you must want to,” he told us.

I was thrilled and immediately accepted. My jaw dropped with Abby and Emily declined in unison without missing a beat. “We’re planning on partying really hard for New Year’s so we were thinking we’d go for a really heavy pasta dinner early to soak up all the alcohol. I know you’re probably getting the best cultural experience, Beverly, but I think will pass. Thanks anyway though.”

THIS is the reason I avoid hanging out with Westerners when I travel! I will never understand why people are content to travel to foreign countries, take pictures of the beautiful touristy sights that every other tourist sees, eat only at restaurants that serve Western food and make zero effort to get off that beaten path to discover the real essence of the country, particularly when it’s right in their laps as Chung’s offer was for these girls. I realize that I’m incredibly elitist about this but I think these kinds of tourists might as well stay home, buy a coffee table book and save their money … or spend it getting drunk there. Why obliterate your mind when you can open it by having real adventures just by stepping in a different direction from the crowd? Don’t get me started. Whatever. I got Chung’s family all to myself.

boats on Cat Ba Island

Chung and I made plans to meet at 5 pm the next day. When 5:30 rolled around and I hadn’t seen him, I called. For a while, I stepped into the Twilight Zone. “Are we still going to the market to buy crabs?” I asked. “Oh there won’t be any fresh crabs at the market at this time of day.” Hmmm. “Ok … Am I still joining you for dinner?” “Oh. You want to eat dinner with me and my family?” It was as though the exchange from the previous day had never occurred which was odd because Chung was extremely organized and very punctual.

“I don’t want to intrude if you weren’t planning on me coming for dinner.” “Well, we don’t have much for dinner tonight, but please come out and eat with us anyway. Maybe we can get an extra chicken.” “Oh, I don’t want to be a burden, Chung. I just thought you had invited me to come for dinner.” “OK, then you can buy the chicken.” I laughed. “Sure, I’ll be happy to buy the chicken.”

I drove my motorbike out to Chung’s and when I arrived, we drove down the road to the chicken farmer’s house. Chung selected a plump chicken from all those running around and it was weighed, tied up and carried home. I still haven’t gotten over this live food business. It bothers me terribly, but I still eat the meat which tastes delicious. However, I feel I’m daily becoming closer and closer to becoming vegetarian. I didn’t start that night, however, and dinner was amazing. Chung’s father warmed to me even more than he had the first time I was there for dinner. “My whole family is so happy that you like our home enough to eat dinner here twice,” Chung told me. “Like your home? I LOVE your home!” I told him.  

shrimp boat in the bay on Cat Ba Island

After dinner and a visit over tea, I headed back into town and joined the party already in progress. I’m thrilled to say that not all Western tourists are like Abby and Emily, but the good kind are needles in a tourist haystack. I had managed, however, to meet a couple of really cool ones, both American, who ran a rock climbing business on Cat Ba and was looking forward to winding up the old year with them. Unfortunately, they were no shows at the party (smart guys!), but I met a couple of beginning travelers at the bar. We talked travel, of course, and I evangelized about getting off the beaten path. One, obviously in the Abby-and-Emily camp, drifted away to do shots. The other was obviously like-minded and we swapped stories. After a bit, conversation ran short so I began to speculate with him about who in the bar had the best travel stories. I selected a dread-locked, tattoo’d guy across the room. His appearance certainly indicated that he wasn’t afraid to go against the grain. I asked Ben who he chose. “You! You’re about to motorbike Vietnam! You have the best stories!”

Amazing Cave ... as big as 3 football fields

I appreciated the vote of confidence, but since I hadn’t started my trip yet, my money was still on Mr. Nonconformist. Thirty minutes later, he bellied up to the bar for another round and I took the opportunity to bestow the compliment. “I’m betting that you have the best travel stories here. Will you tell me a good travel story?” I asked. “You have the wrong guy,” he replied. “You ought to talk to my friend here. He’s been traveling for a long time. Jim! Tell this lady a good travel story,” MN ordered. “Yeah! Well, the other day I booked one of those boat tours and we brought tons of liquor on board with us. We started doing shots and by lunch we were so hammered! You should try it! It accentuated the waves of the boat and all the big rocks looked like animals swimming.” Oh my god. That was the best travel story he could come up with? Sheesh! With that competition, I had to agree with Ben. I was bored, but it was 11:45. I stuck it out until midnight, counting the minutes. Midnight rolled around and Ben gave me the obligatory peck then said, “My hotel has a really big lobby. You can park your motorbike there tonight if you want.” Whoa! Time to go … and park my motorbike in my own hotel lobby. So that’s how 2009 rolled in for me. Thank goodness for my Vietnamese friends.  

the friendly Vietnamese honeymooners

The next day, I boarded the boat for my full day cruise through Ha Long Bay. My jaw was on the floor in disbelief at the beauty just as it had been on the first day I saw the Bay. In addition to sailing through Ha Long Bay, we stopped and explored several caves. One was very appropriately called Amazing Cave and it was just that. The interior was cavernous, probably able to hold 3 football fields inside. The rock formations were astonishing. Lit with colored lights, I felt like I was walking through a rocky fairytale land, a stone version of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

After exploring Amazing Cave, we had a delicious and traditional Vietnamese lunch on board the boat and then went kayaking in the Bay. The sun was out (finally!) and the day was spectacular if a little chilly. It was too cold to swim, but still a fabulous day to be out on the water and I soaked up the sunshine.

On the boat with me were two absolutely precious young Vietnamese couples. It turns out that they had each just gotten married and were on their honeymoon. We all hit it off and they invited me to join them for dinner. They knew of an amazing seafood restaurant where the fish was so fresh, it was still swimming in the tank until you selected the one you wanted for dinner. I realize my hypocrisy in eating meat but not wanting to be the executioner, but that’s just the way it is. Fortunately, my new friends did not have the same qualms and were adamant that they would order for me anyway so I was relieved of any guilt for having sent Ralph the Fish to the frying pan instead of his cousin Joe. Dinner was spectacular and my kind friends insisted on treating as a “welcome to Vietnam” present. Needless to say, I was touched.

All in all, my time on Cat Ba had been lovely, but I was anxious to hit the road and see the rest of the country. So I packed my bags and went to bed by 10 pm so I could catch the early ferry back to the mainland and get an early start for my trip to Ninh Binh.

Take a cruise through Ha Long Bay with me via video by clicking here.

If you’d like to see more photos of Cat Ba Island and Ha Long Bay, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.

(December 29)  The morning after the wedding in Hai Phong, I bought a new battery for the Fonda and a boat ticket to take us both (the Fonda and me) to Cat Ba Island.  To pass the time before I needed to board the boat, I explored the streets of Hai Phong, Vietnam’s largest port.  I came across a small market where women were selling live chickens and ducks.  I parked my bike and walked over to investigate … and of course to take photos.  

As I approached, the ladies waved me away … or more accurately, they waved away my camera.  So I put it aside and started just to visit with them.  Although my Vietnamese has gotten pretty good since then, at the time, the only words I knew were hello and thank you.  I used those but then relied on my smile and willingness to make an absolute fool of myself which usually involves lots of miming.  These methods usually get people laughing and get my foot in the door … and didn’t fail me with these ladies.  

chicken vendor snoozing

I got the sense that they were asking me where I was from, so I ran to my bike and came back with my little American flag along with my Vietnamese one.  The next thing I knew, the women were crawling over themselves (and their chickens and ducks) to get their hands on the flags.  They took turns waiving them and then started requesting to have their photos made.  Now we were talking!  Once the camera was out, these once shy ladies started hamming it up.  They even began pointing out photo opps to me … like one of their peers who was taking a nap and was so far into dreamland, he didn’t hear the commotion they were creating.  They laughed hysterically as I took the snoozer’s photograph.

So it was with happy feelings that I boarded the boat for Cat Ba Island an hour later.  The boat almost overflowed with passengers who filled every seat and then some (all Vietnamese except for me and one other Westerner I spotted who seemed to be trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible in the corner).  It seemed that everyone had bags of fruit, vegetables or some kind of food that they stuffed in all the crevices on the bench seats that bodies weren’t filling and all over the floor. The Fonda was parked outside by the railing and every square inch around it was filled with bags of vegetables and lettuces which islanders were importing from the mainland.  Space was certainly not wasted on this boat.

a Hai Phong mattress vendor with a serious load

Although I enjoyed visiting (or at least sharing smiles) with the old woman seated next to me who kindly shared her fruit, the density of passengers coupled with the lack of air circulation pushed my curiosity about what we were cruising past over the edge and I squeezed past lettuce and vegetables to to out to join the Fonda for a breath of fresh air.  I was photographing some boats as we passed them when a Vietnamese man who appeared to be about my age approached me and started chatting me up in English.

He introduced himself as Chung Ngoc and began asking about my camera.  I don’t like “how much did you pay” questions, especially from people in developing countries about electronic and photographic equipment that usually represents a years’ worth of earnings to them so I dodged it as I always do with “I can’t remember” or “too much.”  Then he started asking me more traditional questions which I’ve since come to learn are asked by almost all Vietnamese:  Where are you from? How old are you? Are you married?  

Not sure if he was just making conversation or making a move, I fibbed (as I often do on this topic to Asian men my age) and told him I was married.  He asked me a few more questions about my fictitious husband for which I made up answers.  The topic changed and I promptly forgot my lie.  Chung was a Cat Ba Island resident who had made a trip to the mainland on behalf of his handicapped brother.  Chung’s father had fought in the American War (as the “Vietnam War” is called in Vietnam) and had been exposed to Agent Orange.  As a result, his son, Chung’s brother, was born with a number of birth defects that rendered him unable to walk or talk normally.  

the Fonda on the ferry before being packed in with lettuce

Somehow, his brother had managed to meet a minority girl (a girl from an ethnic tribe) who lived in the mountains on the mainland, had developed a relationship with her via telephone and had fallen in love with her. Chung was returning from a trip to visit the girl’s family to propose a marriage between the girl and Chung’s brother.  He was returning with good news and was anxious to share it with me.  

He then told me that he was married and had a young son and invited to give me a tour of the island, including a visit to his village to meet his family.  Oh, a family!  He was safe!  So naturally, I accepted. 

It got cold outside the boat and my extra coat was packed away on my motorbike underneath all the vegetable so I excused myself from my visit with Chung and went back inside.  In my absence, the old lady who had been sitting next to me had curled up in both of our seats and gone to sleep.  I wandered into the next compartment and found an unoccupied space on a wooden bench.  The boat rocked me to sleep, but thirty minutes later, I was awakened by some women in their mid-thirties tugging on my hair (my braids are always a source of curiosity for the Vietnamese) and on my coat sleeves.  They seemed equally curious about one as the other.  All five of the women smiled widely except for one who actually looked a bit stern and seemed as though she was reserving judgment about me.  

the "stern looking lady" ... now all smiles

The stern looking lady made sharp gestures that she wanted to try on my coat.  I knew I would be cold without it but I was willing to be a sport for a little bit so I handed it to her.  Once she snuggled into its warmth, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get it back.  The ladies all tried to talk to me but at that point, I didn’t speak or understand any Vietnamese (just hello and thank you) so they settled for inspecting my hair.  Apparently something I did or said won the “stern lady” over and suddenly she was all smiles like the others.  She began pulling food from her pockets and sharing it with me.  And just as  the boat was pulling into the bay at Cat Ba Island, she grabbed a pen and my hand and wrote her phone number in my palm.  

This wasn’t the first time a non-English speaking Asian woman had given me her phone number.  And I continue to be amused and confused each time.  We are obviously not able to communicate verbally so I’m not sure what they expect me to do with the number.  The best I can figure is that they’ve enjoyed our connection and want to walk away feeling like that connection isn’t lost.  At any rate, I was touched.

When we arrived at the island, Chung waited while my motorbike was unloaded from the boat.  In Hai Phong, I was able to drive my bike right onto the boat.  Not so on Cat Ba.  Immediately after stepping off the boat, everyone had to climb about 15-20 feet up some very steep steps.  There was no way I could drive my motorbike up there so I had to hire five porters to carry my bike up the steps for me.  It was a pretty precarious maneuver and I was a bit anxious for a few minutes, but they made it safely with my little Fonda so, after dropping off my bags at a hotel, off Chung and I went, zipping around the island to his village, Khe Sau.  

view of Cat Ba Island harbor from my hotel room

After showing me around the village, he invited me into his home to meet his family.  He and his wife and three year old child lived in one room (in one bed) in his parents’ house while he saved money to build his own house down the street some day.  His brother was unable to walk up and down the four steps that lead to the family house so he lived alone in a building toward the front of the house from which he ran a dry goods store.  I was present when Chung delivered the good news to him about his engagement.  It was quite sweet to see how happy he was.  

Chung invited me to join his family for dinner which made me quite excited.  It was my first such invitation in Vietnam and my opportunity to see what a Vietnamese home looked like inside. 

a shrimp boat in the harbor at Cat Ba Island

The living room floor, and in fact the entire house, was made of concrete.  As is common in Vietnam, the double front doors which separated the living room from the outdoors were wide open.  It was about 45 to 50 degrees outside … and, because the doors were open, inside as well.  It’s the custom throughout Asia to take off one’s shoes before entering the home.  I can’t tell you how grateful I was that cold night in a room with concrete floors to have on my socks (which are permitted indoors).  Seeing Chung and his family walk around barefoot made my feet feel cold anyway.  I also kept my coat on and I noticed that Chung and all of his family did as well.  

Against the wall was an old leather sofa and opposite it, a wood and glass coffee table and some chairs.  The set up was somewhat formal and also reminiscent, on a much more humble scale, of the living room feeling set up in the Vietnam consulate’s office in Battambang, Cambodia where I received my Vietnam visa.  Against the wall and to the right of the sofa was a formal glass case which housed some seemingly precious, yet dusty and forgotten objects including several lovely tea sets.  In the far corner of the room was a giant entertainment center made of honey colored wood (or pressed particle board) with gold trim that looked like it had come from Sears.  Housed inside - the precious and “always on” TV.  Next to the entertainment center was the bed used by Chung’s parents.  

Chung and his brother who's just received the news that he's officially engaged

I offered to help Chung’s wife cook, but she would have none of it.  So I sat with Chung on his couch in the living room (which also served as his parents’ bedroom and, when the straw mat was placed on the floor, the dining room as well) and shared a beer while we waited for dinner to be served.  

“So why isn’t your husband traveling with you?” Chung asked me.  Husband? What husband? I thought.  Then I remembered the little white lie I’d told earlier in the day.  Embarrassed to admit to my new friend that I had lied to him and not sure he’d understand why if I did admit it, I carried on with the fib.  I know this is going to sound crazy, but I didn’t want Chung to think I was in an unhappy marriage so I told him that my husband was going to be meeting me in one week in Hue.  If you’re going to tell a lie, you might as well make it a good one, eh?  I tried to change the subject, but Chung was relentless with his questions about my husband.  How long had we been married? (Three years) What does he do for a living?  (He’s a professor) Did we have children? (I kept it simple on this one … no).  Why not? Married for three years already.  Did we want children? (Sure … someday).  

Finally dinner was ready.  Saved by the bell.  

dinner with Chung's family

I was a little nervous about meeting Chung’s father.  Afterall, the man had not only fought in the American/Vietnam war, but was still living with its effects on a daily basis in his deformed second son who couldn’t even climb the house steps to eat dinner with the family.  He was the first such person I had met and I figured surely he must be bitter and would not be excited to have an American visiting his home.  To the contrary, when the straw mat was spread on the floor and everyone sat down to eat, he toasted with me and welcomed me to his country as well as to his house.  I was amazed and appreciative.  We didn’t discuss the war.  I was rather afraid to bring it up, but I enjoyed my first glimpse at how Vietnam has forgiven, if not necessarily forgotten.

Goof around with me and the lady chicken vendors in Hai Phong, bite your nails while the Fonda is unloaded off the ferry and join me for dinner at Chung’s house all via video by clicking here.

If you’d like to see more photos of Hai Phong and Cat Ba Island, check out the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.