To see what I could see

How many ways are there to have coffee here, or maybe tea? I haven’t begun to decode the options, but I’m having fun taking a run at it. I’ve learned the word for milk, and coffee sounds very much like, well, coffee. Sometimes a small glass of either water or some other liquid is served alongside the coffee, and I haven’t yet learned how to drink it properly.

My last morning in Danang was overcast and threatened rain. My ostensible goal was the bookstore, but I found myself wandering. I discovered narrow streets that fit only pedestrians or bikes, and got little glimpses of everyday life.

This was breakfast as I waited for the bookstore to open.

Later I skirted the edge of a large market, and found myself in streets of various industry, trade and material.

I tried to ask some women what the greens in the middle were called, but when they said a word, I wasn’t sure if it was the name or something else. They then tried to sell me some bananas – a word we were all sure of, and we parted ways.

I stopped in a few electronics stores on a whim to see about getting a remote camera button (thank you Roger for that idea), and while I came away empty handed, the experience was educational. I was met right at the door each time, and using Google translate, I asked my question. The answer was always no, and perhaps it really was true. My dusty shoes soiled the spotless floors though, and I thanked them carefully as they opened the door to show me out. I continued my wanders, until eventually belly issues and rain both threatened and I circled back ‘home’.

There I made some decisions about my last week in Vietnam, booked a flight from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh and surrendered the idea of going to Sa Pa. I would have spent two days in transit on a bus or another train, and time is short.

These bougainvillea have multiple colors growing from the same vine, or at least so it seems.

And then it was time to gather my things and order a Grab for the short drive to the train station.

Early morning coffee in my room. I apologize to you purists out there, but needs must.

I woke thinking about my plans for the day. The only hard and fast schedule is to be on the train at 6 pm, bound for Hanoi. Check out time is 12, so I have to decide soon if I want to pay for an extra half day to keep the room until 4 or 5. Knowing that I will sweat through my clothes before 10 am, I am inclined to pay the extra dong.

Speaking of dong, it is hard to not balk sometimes at paying hundreds of thousands of dong for something, because the idea of hundreds of thousands sounds like a lot. For instance, I paid 1,600,000 dong yesterday for the car and driver, which I had from 7:30 am to about 5 pm. When the hotel clerk quoted me that price the evening before, I had to pause and calculate on my phone what that meant in terms of money I could understand.

The last thing I need is to add anything to my bags, but I saw something about a bookstore here in Danang with books in English. I haven’t read at all on this trip, but that will not deter me from going. I’ve spent little time even reading things on my phone other than directions, between the fact that I’m out and about most of the time, and then having tasks to complete when I’m in the room- laundry, repacking the day bag for the current day’s plans, and making onward plans such as hotel rooms. For me the chores are part of the fun of my style of travel, although it’s not necessarily relaxing. Stepping outside my everyday life like this is energizing and I feel like I’m constantly absorbing, watching, wondering at what I see, and it’s in effect filling my cup constantly. Speaking of cups, pardon me while I refill my instant coffee. It’s still dark here, and too early to find the good stuff.

I’m calculating whether I want to walk or get a Grab to get to the aforementioned bookstore. Google says it opens at 8, which may or may not be so. But I’m going to plan on it, because I can be certain of a nearby coffee stand, or five, in which to while away a little time. Coffee, coffee everywhere. And Grab.

I have only gotten a car with Grab because so far I’ve had bags, but today I will get a bike instead. I quickly learned to spot the bright green jacket and helmet of Grab riders, they too are everywhere. It takes less than five minutes to get picked up, and the price is quoted in the app, so no worries about repeating my experience in the taxi from the airport.

Speaking of jackets- while I was busy dehydrating myself from sweating so much, I noted that most motor bike riders wear jackets, sometimes even puffy jackets. They nearly all wear helmets (it is the law here), except some children. Many wear face masks to avoid grime and exhaust, and some women wear some form of a wrap – not as a modesty thing, but to protect their clothes from the road dust. A lot of bikes with single riders had a spare helmet hanging alongside, I suppose it’s the family car for many. Ho Chi Minh city alone, with about 8.9 million people, has about 7.3 million motorbikes. They are many, and they are everywhere. I shared a photo previously of a beautiful church here, all lit up for a Saturday evening service. I also snapped this second photo- so many had come to church via motorbike, I was astounded.

It’s time to start my Sunday and your Saturday is almost to the yardarm. Off I go.

This morning I had a car and driver to take me to Hue, which is about 2 ½ hours from Danang. Many Americans know of Hue due to the fighting that took place there during the American war. Its history, however, dates back over 20,000 years, to the Sa Huynh culture. I will not attempt to summarize it here, but feel free to check out Wikipedia. We shared the road with a few cows, and stopped at some oyster beds along the way. I also saw ponds along the sea-front that looked like they were used for farming some kind of sea life, but Thinh was intent on the road, so I left him to it and just made up my own stories for the unknown things I saw.

I’ve found it hard to communicate to a driver that I really don’t want to be given the ‘tour’ in the past, and today was no exception. When I arranged the transportation, it was with the desk clerk at my hotel, who is sharp and clearly good at understanding what her guests want. Alas, such nuance was lost on Thinh. I attributed that in part to his youth, but that might be unfair. I tried, by use of Google translate, to tell him to just drop me off in the city center, and we’d meet up later, but he found that instruction confusing. He waited a while, and then offered to take me first to the Imperial City. Since that was on my list anyway, I decided to accept this idea. The Imperial City is actually not as old as I would have expected. It was constructed in the early 1800s by Emperor Gia Long. I wandered through a very small part of it, but the humid warm air drove me in search of shade and fluid. Photos that take in a whole building fail to show the colors and detail, so mostly these are close-ups of details in the bulidings.

I had thought I would rent a bike or scooter today and head out of Hue on my own. But Hue, small as it might be, was larger than I’d expected. I decided it would be wise to wait on that idea. I hope it will work out in Sapa as it is smaller yet. The cities are filled with an incredible number of motor bikes, with truly nuanced rules of the road. I also found out yesterday that at least some places won’t rent to you without an international drivers license, and I figure my chances are better in a small town. Things I saw in Hue –

I visited the Thien Mu temple, and with it the pagoda. This dates back to 1601, and the name is taken from an old lady by the name Thien Mu who foretold that a lord would come and erect an pagoda on the hill. By this point in the day, I ha acquired a sunhat, and so was better equipped to wander in the heat.

Back in my hotel room a few hours later, I showered away the sweat of the day, and booked a hotel room for my next stop. Tomorrow evening I board the train for another overnight to Hanoi. Then I joined the masses on the streets of Danang, on a lovely warm evening. Hot pot for dinner, coconut coffee for after, and a walk along the river front to end the day. The last photo is home, sweet home for one more night.

Being incapable of sleeping in can be a problem in a four person train compartment. But that isn’t the beginning of the story. When I boarded my train last evening, I confess to being a little trepidatious about who would be joining me. Being more introvert than not, I would have booked a single compartment if that were an option. There are two person compartments to be had, but I’d rather share with 3 others than just 1, all things considered.

My first bunkmate was an older, clearly unwell man. His adult son helped him to the other lower berth, helped him get situated, and then left. My eyes respectfully averted, I wondered. Next came a daughter or daughter-in-law, who performed a few ministrations, and then she too left. Then came the wife, who sat on his bunk and stayed. I wondered at the protocol, but having established we shared no common language, I fell into silence. I was so ready to sleep, but the unfolding pageant caught my interest. Then came a young man with many bags. He took the bunk above the old man, and chatted with them briefly. Then he spoke to me in English, and we were able to establish a few things. After a bit I saw the wife begin to climb into the bunk above me. I was suddenly concerned that I should have offered her mine. I didn’t mind doing that, but I hadn’t thought she would stay, although as it turned out, of course she would stay. But I also figured that someone would come on board during our journey and claim the bunk I was sleeping in, and indeed that too would have happened. But I offered to trade, via Hutong (the closest I can get to the young man’s name) as translator. He assured me she said no, that I was as old as she (he said it very diplomatically). Hutong was on his way to a work conference, and is also finishing up his master’s in automation technology. When he is done, he will return from Ho Chi Minh city to his hometown and go to work at his parents’ company.

But back to the ill man and wife. The ride was turbulent and the train seemed to scream on the tracks from time to time, so sleep came and went. At one point as I lay there trying to get more comfortable, I heard old man say one word, nothing more. It was not loud, but immediately I heard a one word response from above, and then she descended. I was very nearly moved to tears at the care and love in her speedy and unquestioning response. I don’t know, but I would guess that he is gravely ill, and I saw in her face the fear and pain of impending loss and the great cost of love. Is there anything more precious than to be loved in this way? It brought to mind my mom and dad, who having forged a marriage through thick and thin. My dad was utterly lost after my mom died, and seeing that woman’s face evoked his desperate desire to keep her with him.

This happened once more during the night, and then around 4 am, the attendant came and told them their station was coming. Wife gathered their things and left, son came and did in reverse what was done the night before. I saw in the half light the simple gestures – dad’s hand reaching out in absolute certainty that son would be there to take it, and indeed he was. And they were gone, to be replaced a minute or two later by a couple who quietly stowed their things and laid down.

An hour later, I laid there wanting to get up but I knew the new couple must not have gotten much sleep that night, having to board at 4 am. At 5:30 I stole away with my small bag in hand, and headed down the train in search of the promised restaurant car. I careened my way through about 7 cars, and then came to a locked door. Peering through, I saw that the kitchen staff were in the process of picking up their bedding and transforming the car back into a restaurant car. A man came to the door and somehow made me to understand that they would open at 6. So I waited in an empty row of seats, because it didn’t seem likely I’d bother to make the trek a second time. Besides, everyone in my compartment was sleeping.

When they opened the doors, the young waiter and I used Google translate to determine that I could get coffee and chicken. Unsure what this was, but unwilling to give up the chance at both coffee and food, I agreed. A short time later a dixie cup half full of Vietnamese coffee arrived, and then a man came by with these breadsticks and told me 30. This means 30,000 dong, which I handed over. It didn’t look like chicken but maybe this was something extra? The bread was warm and crusty and did indeed have something chicken-like inside. I sat at the wooden table and watched the early morning through the dirty window, and luxuriated in the moment.

Soon others trickled in, and I saw that pho was also on offer, but I contented myself with my chicken bread. A man silently took the bench across from me and I ordered a second coffee because the first was so good.

Back in the compartment, I met Dominic and Mel, who were awake and chatting quietly. We slid past endless rice paddies, egrets standing in the fields -and once on top of a water buffalo, but I couldn’t get a photo of that fast enough. We pulled through small towns, past more rice paddies and fields of corn, squash and other things I could not identify from the train. Dom and Mel and I variably stood in the corridor, sat in our compartment, and wandered from time to time. Food carts rolled by, and I was done with the ride before it was done with me. Some scenes from the train window . . .

And water buffalos that I hope delight you as they did me.

Interesting to note that I will be doing this again in a few days’ time, from here to Hanoi. It’s a beautiful route, seen through dust and smudge, and one I won’t need to take again. That is the way of some things, isn’t it? You don’t know without trying it whether you want to do it or not. I love train travel, but my introverted soul desires a place to retreat to from time to time. Sitting across from others, one has a social contract to fulfill, especially when they are as nice as Hutong, Mel and Dom turned out to be. But had I a retreat, I would not have witnessed the sweet and painful moments in the night.

On arrival in Danang, I did some laundry and headed out to see things. More on that to come.

The jet lag is real. I was up and out early this morning, traipsing around and just taking in what I could. I started with coffee next door to the hotel, which gave me a great spot for people watching and to observe the scooters and cars maneuvering around each other. The traffic came in waves, presumably because of a traffic light down the street that I couldn’t see.

I wandered along back streets, between the river and opera house, and finally when I was soaked with my own sweat and sure it must be noon, I stopped for a coconut coffee. Too late I remembered I’m supposed to avoid ice here. I guess time will tell about that. It was only 8:30 am, so I dipped a toe in the Cho Ben Thanh, a sprawling market, and poked around the Independence Palace.

I went back to my room for a cooldown and back out again for a few hours before I go to the train station. It’s 96 degrees fahrenheit here, and only 84 in Da Nang. I sense chill awaiting me as I make my way north.

Now to stay awake until it’s time to go to the train.