Our departure from La Marina reminded me of the moment in Life of Pi when Richard Parker (the Bengal tiger) strolls off into the jungle without so much as a glance back in Pi Patels direction. "Unceremonious" he described that as. And I suspect my departing facial expression resembled that of Pi's when he stared, shocked and saddened, in the absence of an emotional farewell...
...Okay, so we hadn't at any time been stranded at sea and starving to death with the staff and other hotel residents, neither had we been forced to tame any of them, and we certainly hadn't witnessed a series of horrific, cannibalistic murders in one another's presence (although if I do write the TV series - such events may feature), but we had been cohabiting long enough to form connections. I mean, we bought them flowers, they gave us free lunches, jokes were shared and subsequent laughter ensued, they made swans from our towels and wrote 'Happy Day' with twigs on our bed when we were out. When there's nothing interrupting you from simply living, you converse at great lengths with those around you and get to know them well. It's another one of those collections of memories that plays out like an emotive movie montage of a significant chapter... Yet when the time came to leave, that was that, ...it was simply over - and a quick goodbye from those we had befriended was all we got. ...Perhaps we didn't tip enough.
The drive from Mui Ne to Dalat entertained me more than any Hollywood movie, educated me more than at least six months worth of university study, inspired my mind and fed my soul. It was a six and a half hour climb to the inland, mountainous terrain surrounding Vietnam's highest city. (Should have been five and a half hours, but we were delayed by a small landslide which had covered the narrow, twisting, bumpy road with a zillion orange rocks and rubble - and was being cleared at a snails pace by barefoot, mechanical shovel operators.)
In a mini van filled with as many monks as backpackers, we passed through endless flourishing countryside, inhabited by what appeared to be the cheeriest people on earth. Neighbours congregated in groups around small village eateries, built unevenly from wood and corrugated iron - smiling, chatting and visibly giggling. I saw one child doing a handstand, and another chasing a chicken. Similar, relaxed, playful, social activities were occurring in every roadside community - and I've begun to realise that these people feel contentment with each other in a genuine way, unlike any we regularly experience in the United Kingdom...
Where I'm from, strangers, colleagues and even the closest of friends and family are always partaking in a complicated and undeclared competition - trying to impress, please or justify their own lives to all who witness it. Unknowingly, this is embedded in our otherwise brilliant culture, (possibly fuelled by media and materialism) and is something most would certainly rather deny. Whether it's implying we work harder, deserve things more, are morally superior, or simply know best. We feel it necessary to explain our life's choices owed to the judgmental nature of fellow Brits, who often make wildly inaccurate assumptions due to compulsory over analysis - another automatic trait of many UK citizens. (But I do think this analytical nature elevates our highly evolved, shared reference 'out of the box' silly sense of humour, but that tangent could be a book...)
The people of Vietnam don't seem to engage in such complex anthropology - they're happy to simply be. Their support for one another is unconditional, unquestioned, respectful and easy. And I think that's probably best. As Brian tried to tell the masses, "You are all individuals!" We all do our thing, and for every person it's different and that's how it is. The ideology we all ought to strive for really is quite simply to love the people we love, whatever they're doing, wherever they are and however they feel about it, because it's a peaceful, breathe-easy, kind way to be. ...You know, maybe it's that zen thing again?
Because of its altitude, Dalat is much cooler than anywhere else we'd been in Vietnam. So much so, that one can comfortably wear trousers, boots and a cardigan when strolling about town. I hadn't got my jeans out of my backpack since we left Warsaw, and it was a pleasant surprise to find them considerably roomier than the last time I tugged them on.
Dalat is hilly and grey - less busy and with not as many tourists as the likes of vibrant Hanoi. It's insanely cheap and the Vietnamese seem to enjoy a comparatively good lifestyle - eating out, having a drink, shopping until they're dropping, being pampered at one of the many hundreds of trendy spas or salons and even getting their groove on at one of the newly opened roof top nightclubs.
I was well overdue a haircut, and my wiry white roots were embarrassingly visible - ageing me about 20 years. So I thought I'd try going a dark ash blonde, (might keep the greys concealed for a bit longer) - it was only going to cost $12 for the full cut and colour - too tempting to ignore, even though all the staff were snoozing in the massage chairs at the back. Apart from dying my hair very almost black, which is a million miles from the shade I chose, the chop was fortunately good. It was a three hour job and without a book, electronic device or English speaking human to entertain me, it was a rather dull afternoon.
Dalat's central market is a giant maze of treats and tat, and every evening it doubles in size as sellers take over the streets around the roundabout and lay out their goods across pedestrian walkways - filling sidewalks, covering stairs and wafting street food smells into the crisp night sky. We were elated not to be yelled at by hassling locals desperate for us to buy something from their enormous piles of musty old items. It felt a little 1980's for some reason - perhaps because they've possibly had the same stock for the last 30 years.
There were a lot of young children working in the market, especially girls, hanging clothes, balancing towers of fruit, stacking rice and washing up plastic plates in buckets of brown, soapy water... I'd say some were as young as four. Mostly working in pairs, they all looked to be enjoying what they were doing, and were clearly grafting harder than their slouching parents.
Every stall had it's own lurking cat or kitten - some with tails, ears or eyes missing, limping around in search of scraps. A few had obviously been adopted and wore collars or were tied with string to table legs alongside fly-infested bowls of fermenting cream. It's a crowded, noisy place and hard to believe it's in action 18 hours a day, seven days a week.
A man called Bay whose name means 'Seven' (named so as he was the seventh of ten children born to his parents - lazy decision some might say), was our guide for the day around Dalats countryside. Apparently only westerners like to explore outside the city. The Vietnamese tourists are holidaying in the area only for it's growing city-life attributes, which are an exciting novelty to most people in the country who only know the difficulties and basics of rural living.
Bay was almost the perfect, informative, friendly guide - until he took us to a dirty restaurant miles from anywhere, where the bill for the simplest of snacks came to 330,000VND. An outrageously naughty scam that we didn't see coming. $18 - more than we had paid for a meal anywhere in Asia, and on average at least quadruple the price of our usual backpackers dinner. I voiced a few expletives, along with "no tip for you, man." - mainly because we had quickly come to trust this guy. As always, it's not the money - it's the principle.
...We got our own back by refusing to purchase any weasel poo coffee, (which we're sure he gets a cut from.) - Yes, weasel poo coffee - said to be the best in the world owed to the beans being so carefully selected by weasel connoisseurs. The excreted beans are hand cleaned, peeled, roasted and ground. We were invited to sniff the difference between regular coffee and that which had travelled through the digestive system of a Mustelidae mammal. Definitely a stronger, sweeter aroma was coming from number two.
There are many beautiful waterfalls around Dalat. We visited just three of them; Datanla, Elephant and Pongour. The latter being the largest, and despite it's deserted, peaceful and rural location which necessitates a lengthy climb, occasionally plays host to an array of unusual festivities throughout the year - from the quite horrific Buffalo Stabbing ritual, to less dramatic rice cooking contests.
At Elephant waterfall (where there are no elephants to be seen), Bay lead us on a slippery descent over slimy, muddy rocks and through great crevices housing determined tree roots, (great for grabbing on to) to a magical spot behind the fall. The deafening roar of the water would drown out any cry for help should someone accidentally plummet to oblivion. The spray alone left us soaked to the bone, but was welcomingly refreshing. Datanla waterfall is accessible via 'roller coaster' and can be abseiled down, which perhaps makes it the most exciting of the three.
At the cricket farm, Guillaume was invited to partake in a plate of insects, served with chili sauce. He very reluctantly ate just one of the crispy crickets - pulling all sorts of screwed up faces as he chewed and swallowed. "What do you think it tastes like?" Bay asked him. "Chili sauce" Guillaume replied.
A single thread from any one silk worm can be as lengthy as 800 metres, and there are hundreds of thousands of them in the Dalat countryside, all deprived of the chance to ever become a butterfly. Their carefully constructed cocoons which they believe are keeping them safe and warm are thrown heartlessly into boiling water to initiate stage one of the silk making process. The worms bounce about for the last few seconds of their little lives, their cocoons are separated into threads by hand, and ultimately we have a luxurious fabric thanks to their wiggly efforts.
In the afternoon, we visited a 'minority village', where the natives reside in small communities in a state of apparent poverty. My feelings about this bit of the tour were mixed - firstly I wondered if it could be comparable to going on safari and if that was extremely insulting to the people - then I questioned if such organised "sight-seeing" is in an attempt to make us feel rich and guilty - which then thirdly, I was surprised to learn it did not do...
In fact, the shacks they called home made me think of small wooden chalets in Canada's mountains. The way they were living reminded me of the indigenous Canadian people - and I concluded this experience would be quite similar to touring a native reserve in the prairies - except the Vietnamese are happier and not angry. It was interesting to meet these people, and we ended up giving them some money, but I couldn't help but think this is not exclusive to Vietnam, or even Asia. People live like this, and far worse all over the world including in economically superior countries like the United States. So was this part of our day akin to visiting the streets of homeless in downtown LA? ...With their hammocks and roofs and little outdoor stoves and even television aerials visibly poking out from atop the roomy sheds - compared to a soggy cardboard box in a city of guns, glamour and Hollywood - I'd say these 'minority people' in Dalats countryside are considerably better off.
There are a lot of Buddhist monks in Southern Vietnam and having a vegan diet is part of their quiet, peaceful lifestyle (which can almost sound appealing and doable until you learn that it is forbidden for a Buddhist monk to dance! - How do they express their euphoria?) There are a growing number of vegan eateries in central Dalat, and we frequented one called Hoa Sen. They offered Vietnamese subs for just 30cents, sticky rice seaweed wraps, tofu cooked a million different ways, every vegetable you can imagine and hundreds of flavoursome herbal teas. (Buddhists aren't allowed alcohol either. It's all about the tea.)
We took a Sinh Tourist bus from Dalat to Ho Chi Minh City, an easy eight hour journey along mostly newly constructed highways. We hadn't booked long in Saigon, and later wished we had extended our visit. We were there primarily to visit the Mekong Delta.
Like most places we'd thus far explored and intended to venture, we'd been told only of the dangers, and evident seediness. We'd heard many stories of pick pocketing and bag snatching, and were convinced we'd have our belongings whisked away from us in the blink of an eye the instant we stepped off the bus. As usual, we were delighted to experience quite the contrary, and feel rather safe. Although one thing consistent with what we had been told about prior to our arrival, was the obvious number of elderly men with thin, hippie-pony-tails kept desperately, as their hair line has otherwise receded to baldness. Hanging out in grumpy groups, seated outside cheap bars in their sweaty vest tops, they'd talk about the war. Are these guys actually veterans from the United Sates that got left behind in the 70's?
For the first time this year we saw hints of Christmas. Little trees, tinsel and merry greetings here and there indicated the festive season is pretty much upon us. There's a Starbucks in Saigon, and yes - we went there. It's the only one we'd seen in Vietnam. Jolly crimbo songs played over the coffee house sound system, and felt bizarre as we looked out of the floor to ceiling windows to the messy street of mish-mashed wonky shop front awnings, tangled electricity cables and beeping tuk-tuk's all roasting in the 30 degree heat of the morning sun.
It was an early start for us the day we visited the Mekong Delta and as we waited for our bus at 6.30am we could hear the relentless pumping of loud disco tunes from the 24 hour bars. Straggling drunkards stumbled past and one man got his willy out in front of everyone and proceeded to urinate in the gutter. I'm kind of pleased to note that these reprobates were not fellow backpackers, nor were they tourists, but local party animals enjoying a good Saturday Club in their home town.
Our local guide to the Mekong Delta liked to declare the affirmative after every sentence and then repeat the key message of his statement. "So, there are lot of coconut in the Mekong. Yeah. Lot of coconut... Mekong is 7th longest river in Asia. Yeah. 7th longest... And now we go one hour and take boat. Yeah. One hour take boat." He spoke first in English and then in Vietnamese, which wasn't especially helpful as 90% of our large tour group were from South Korea. Even when speaking in Vietnamese, the rhythm of his speech was the same, and he continued to say "Yeah" in English between his native language words. Yeah.
When people think of the Mekong perhaps they have visions of water villages, floating markets, crocodiles and anacondas - but in reality many large boats chug up and down transporting goods and polluting the water which is already a muddy brown colour. Villages on the river are small, few and far between with most inhabitants of the Delta residing inland amongst the dense jungle. The main arterys of the river are wider than the UK's Solent, and in many parts large islands slice the river in two, or three.
The jungle is abundant with wildlife, and coconuts and bananas flourish. We saw one bunch holding approximately 1,500 bananas - the smaller ones at the bottom were no bigger than a penny.
We hopped on and off boats of varying shapes and sizes to catch a glimpse of life on the Mekong - a meagre sample of its vast, stretching waters. Coconuts are definitely the thing in the Delta - locals don't just eat them and export them, they build houses out of them! (the wood of the coconut tree that is, not the juicy white flesh of the fruit.) They carve all sorts of artistic souvenirs out of the shells, and they make candy from the fruit. We visited the coconut candy factory - it wasn't that exciting. Rice paper and honey is also produced on mass along the Mekong. We saw that happening too. Equally thrilling, if not slightly terrifying in the presence of a zillion enormous bees.
For lunch, our eclectic table of six strangers were served a giant fish-on-a-stick to share. Its eyes were wide and its mouth was open. I did not partake. Those we dined with included a young girl from Germany, a large sunburnt man from Switzerland (the German speaking side - Zurich) and two Russian women from Khabarovsk, a city we'd never heard of in the far east of their country "close to the Chinese border and North Korea" they said - Japan's a stones throw. They showed us pictures of their home taken just a week prior, covered in deep fluffy snow and looking just like Canada.
It's interesting to me how the Russian women appeared to physically resemble their country's stereotype - 'big boned' with pale skin and dark eyes, yet they're so much closer geographically to a part of the world where people look very different, than they are to those who share similar features in Europe. (Of course they're not the only example of this on our planet.) And it occurred to me that political borders really have evolved in the magnitude of even their natural divides.
We later met with others on the tour, including a retired Asian couple who spoke Vietnamese fluently with the guide and locals. We discovered that in fact they are from San Francisco and coincidentally each have one Vietnamese parent and one Chinese parent, have lived in both countries, and converse with one another in Cantonese. Although I didn't learn this until after I had insulted China rather significantly. Fortunately they agreed 100% with my thoughts on China - that it's extremely tense there and about to explode, like the thick, suffocating humidity before a storm that's actually desperately necessary in order to clear the air. The gentleman of this duo was clearly a very educated man. His English was perfect, and when a tall, handsome chap from Tokyo sat beside us, he began conversing fluently in Japanese. (Apparently he'd worked there for a time in the 90s.) He also spoke Mandarin and had been a lecturer at San Fran State University (where funnily enough I ended up giving a 'guest lecture' by accident when I was 19 - but that's another story...)
The couple said this was the first time they'd been to Vietnam in more than 30 years and usually holiday in Europe or North America. They said the South of the country has changed a lot, for the better, since the liberation. But they would never live in Vietnam despite preferring it to China - which he told us he and his family felt was deeply troubled, not least by it's terrifyingly gargantuan, unhappy population.
At a cafe in the Mekong we sampled tropical fruits with the San-Fran-Chinese-Viets and the Jap (who surprised us all when he said he too was a pensioner, as he didn't look a day over 40!) Fresh Papaya tastes like blue cheese and is not a yummy fruit. That was mine and Guillaumes critique of the taster anyway - more for everyone else. The lychees were lovely, and there was another pea sized jelly like berry that was rather sweet and delicious, dragon fruit - which has become a bit boring to us now as we have it so often, succulent mango slices and juicy pineapple.
I didn't know it 'till the waitress swiped her hand across my crotch, but a cockroach had been sitting on my lap while we ate. This subsequently drew our attention to the ground, where a number of its friends and other creepy crawlys were gathering. An image which once would have made me squeal, but has become such a regular sight on our travels that immunity to squeamish situations now prevails. Accompanying the exotic refreshers was honey tea and traditional Vietnamese opera being performed live at the far end of the cafe alongside a lidless cage containing the biggest Python I've ever seen.* (*ever seen includes on the TV!) the guide later swung the snake around the necks of braver tourists - but it was so long it had to wrap around their bodies at least twice to avoid the floor.
After a brief pony and cart ride through the dusty white lanes of the jungle, we hopped carefully onto a "three plank canoe" to float through the tall grass - the most typical of touristic activities on the Mekong. The water is eerily calm and flat. There's a dulling silence and only the gentle sounds of the paddle in the river break the quiet. Even from between the lofty plants growing from beneath the surface, the sun found it's powerful way through and baked the boat and all five of us on it.
When leaving Ho Chi Minh City, we felt we could have stayed another day or two. It's like Hanoi, but bigger, newer, easier and with all things in greater extremes. There was a lot left for us to explore. ...It may well remain that way, as although we loved our two months in Vietnam, and will treasure the memories for always - with so many places in the world still to see, it's doubtful we'd ever chose to return. Another unceremonious departure from an incredible chapter of life. Next stop, Cambodia...