I've been in Vietnam 2 weeks. That's too long; longer than planned or wished, but I just sort of seem to get stuck in fairly unexciting towns for several days on end, without really managing to see or do very much.
Over the Chinese New Year ("Tet") everything shuts down - shops, transport, restaurants, bars – the whole lot. Officially it lasts only a few days but unofficially it lasts however long anyone wants, which is pretty handy if tourists are involved. Prices are hugely inflated and getting anywhere is a guaranteed ordeal. I haven't heard anyone say "Chuc Mung Nam Moi!" (Happy New Year) for at least the last week, and yet to all intents and purposes it still seems to be a good enough reason for everything to take twice as long and cost twice as much. I think there's a bitter element coming through here. If not, there should be, and I have plenty of reasons why.
I joined up with Tom and Danielle, who I kept bumping into in Laos and eventually decided to stick around with for most of Vietnam. Tom is 19, carefree, 6 months into forgetting about waiting tables in Bristol and also happens to be the tallest, whitest blondest boy that the general public of Vietnam have ever seen. One child literally jumped into her mother’s arms when she saw him. Danielle is from Melbourne, and has that awful braided hair you see so many travellers succumb to in South East Asia. She is eight years older than Tom and they make an odd pair, but are a good laugh and, more importantly, rooms are cheaper in groups.
On our first evening in Hanoi, the craziness of the place is a bit overawing but I am loving it; it’s as if Delhi and Bangkok had been merged in an explosion of light, colour and noise. There is excitement in the air with the oncoming of Tet and fresh beer at street stalls for under 7 pence a glass. Naturally, after a good 21 pence splurge I feel the need to find a toilet. I am guided by a friendly local lady down a dirty alleyway, where a man stops me and asks me to pay first. I am happy to do so but only have a large denomination bill, as I only just took out some currency and haven't paid for anything yet. He gives me back half of what he owes me in change, so I ask for the rest.
And then again.
"The rest, please." He gives me a few scraps more, then nothing. I nod encouragingly. “The rest?” Silence. “Erm, the rest? Please?"
Finally we’re almost there; I look at him expectantly, a hint of impatience seeping into my expression.
Without warning he jumps up, grabs the change, gives me back my original bill and puts his hand up as if to say, "talk to the hand honey". Naively I take this to mean he’s had enough and I might as well just go to the toilet for free. Unfortunately I only got the first part right – he gets aggressive and shouts at me while barring the way to the bathroom with his body.
We have to go through this facade almost every time we make any kind of monetary exchange in Hanoi, and have quickly come to expect it. Tom is thrown out of a corner shop full of Tet orientated gifts because he is white and would, no doubt, cause too much hassle. And if the price you name for something isn't what a seller wants, their expressions turn to disgust and you are ignored, without even a chance to barter.
"But hey", Tom chirps up, "We still have our wonderful hotel". It was true. We'd walked into a place where it was $12 a night for all three of us. It’s the best place I've stayed in my 4 months away. Best that I've ever paid for myself in fact. Spacious, spotless, complete with TV, air-con, mini-bar, massive bathroom, and a hearty breakfast included in the measly price. It seems too good to be true, and it is.
The tremendously friendly manager tries to sell us a tour to Halong Bay, on the north coast of Vietnam, famous for its beautiful limestone mountains and clear blue water, where almost every visitor to the country takes one kind of tour or another. We cautiously tell her we will have to think about it, which is a lie as there are places all over town for a third of the price. She quickly clocks on. Her manner declines rapidly and she swiftly turns into a cold, snappy cow. Tom is particularly hurt by this sudden transition as he is now bereft of repeated compliments on how charming he is, and how lucky to have two “boooootiful laaaydeeez” to keep him company.
The manager peaks full bitchiness at 7am on our second morning when we rise early to head off to Halong Bay – unsurprisingly - with a different tour company. She kindly informs us (after previously telling us that there was plenty of space over Tet) that there are no rooms for us that night. We are kicked out there and then, finding ourselves at 7.07am with our hastily packed luggage, standing on the street bewildered, tired and angry. At least we can laugh amongst ourselves about it; were I on my own I would have had to punch the wall or something similarly futile.
Anyone who deals with tourists wherever we go seems to have a natural disregard for helping us in any way, and people try to rip us off left, right and centre. For no apparent reason, I was going to be charged an extra $10 dollars to get a bus to a different town, when I had already bought my ticket. At that point, I lost the battle with my own anger and was left little choice but to go outside and punch the wall.
Nothing is ever explained; there are no smiles, no courtesy, just looks of repulsion or you're simply ignored. I've never been anywhere with such an attitude problem.
Tom and I are attempted mugged, twice, in a popular beachside town of Nha Trang. The muggers have a regular pattern: a small group of women jump off motorbikes where the men stay with engines running, while the girls run up to you pretending to be drunk and friendly. They hug me and grope Tom (asking him to "play" with them) as they quietly slipped their hands into pockets and bags. They don't take anything from us because we are just about sober enough to work out what they were trying to do and make a fast exit without any trouble. The second time we see them coming and make an immediate run for it, me pen-knife in hand; probably not the wisest thing I've ever done.
Before I get accused of blatant bigotry, it's obviously not the entire population of Vietnam who behave like this, and to generalise would be wholly unfair. But the tourist industry is riddled with an attitude of give me your money or get out, and unfortunately it’s people with this approach who I have come across on a daily basis. Yes, given the history, I can understand the resentment, to an extent. Sadly that doesn’t make it much easier to deal with in every day transactions. It’s not as if I can say to the nasty travel agent, “I’m British, not American, I was born in the 1980’s, and it’s not my fault.” That, perhaps, would be crossing the line.
Refreshingly, I am now in a town which I genuinely like. I've met some lovely Vietnamese people, which I was beginning to doubt was possible. It's another coastal town, further south than Nha Trang, called Mui Ne, where kite surfing and beautiful hotels are both rapidly expanding businesses. When I arrived I planned on spending one day here, having spent too much time getting stuck in other towns and hoping to head off to Cambodia and getthehelloutofhere as soon as possible. Finally, however, I have been charmed; Vietnam will have to host me, and I will have to deal with Vietnam, for another few days.
No comments:
Post a Comment