Vietnam is Not a War

Vietnam. When I told friends I'm going to Vietnam, the first question is "why" usually quickly followed by "are you going to see war sights".  The first answer is because I hear it's a special place, and the second is that's not the plan. 

I went to Vietnam because two of the three travelers I trust most, Anthony Bourdain and Jeremy Clarkson (the other being Rick Steves) quickly proclaim that it's their favorite country. The food, the people, the beauty, the approachable exoticism, and the lack of pretense all make for an incredible trip. 

I convinced a buddy to join me on a whirlwind of the north and central parts of the country. Convince may be too strong- it didn't take much. Planning the trip, it became obvious that the country is much larger than I thought, and it appeared travel was much slower than I'm accustomed to. So 6 stops became 5, which became 4, then really 3.5. In was Hanoi, Hoi An, Hue, and Halong Bay. Out was Sapa, Khe Sanh, and the Song Doo Caves. I figured if the country was really as great as everyone said, I'd return.

Hanoi is a sprawling city of about 8 million people in the north central part of the country. It's also deeply conservative and the nation's capital. I chose Hanoi over Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), the largest and most dynamic city, because it is supposedly more authentically "Vietnamese" than its counterpart in the south, and the food is reputed to be superlative. I don't know if it's more "Vietnamese" or what that really means- but Hanoi is fantastic. Motorbikes, scooters, horns, trucks and taxis jam the narrow densely packed streets of the Old Quarter. Street food is ubiquitous, and people in the capital seem genuinely pleased to see you. Indeed, Hanoi is the smily-est city I think I've ever been to. "Good morning!" "Hello!" and the Vietnamese "Xin Chao" ring out multiple times in a few blocks. Sometimes someone wants you to visit their shop, but just as often its a woman with her young kids, a brick layer, or a street sweeper wanting to welcome you to their city. While I would not say Hanoi is classically beautiful, the faded, gritty, post-colonial atmosphere is not absent charm. The sheer density of shops and restaurants is remarkable, and the constant crush of two wheeled vehicles honking, swerving, and winding is like nothing else. 

About those restaurants. Hanoian cuisine is stunning, and accessible to everyone. My first taste of Vietnam was Beef Pho (pho bo, or pho tai gan) for breakfast, surrounded by locals, in a packed pho shop. Clear, concentrated broth somehow both light and rich held noodles, herbs, and beef in a perfect tension of flavor, texture, and heat. You are handed a bowl so hot that you immediately need to place it down. If there is no table available, I don't know what you do. Burning yourself is the price of perfection, I guess. The first slurp of authentic Pho stock is a heady event. Something seemingly so simple cannot possibly be so good. But believe it, dear reader. Hanoi Pho is all it's cracked up to be. The rest of Hanoi cuisine isn't far behind. Bun cha, nem nuong cuon, and banh mi all call from seemingly every street corner. Almost everything other than pho seems to include grilled pork that has been marinated in lemongrass and fish sauce, rendering that delicious smell omnipresent. And the best part is a street meal will rarely cost you more than $3, including a beer or Coke. Also, while there may be tripe or chicken hearts occasionally on display, a less adventurous eater will do just fine on the streets of Hanoi. Most things are not jarring to Western senses (smell, sight, spice or otherwise), so it's an easy place to have a memorable experience. There's just enough of a language barrier to remind you you're not in Queens or LA. Perfect. 

From Hanoi we left for Halong Bay. Halong may be Vietnam's most internationally known natural attraction. Here rainforest-cloaked limestone karst mountains tumble into the south China Sea, creating a labyrinth of jade islands with sheer cliffs. It's the cover girl of travel brochures on a nice day. Unfortunately, we were not there on beautiful days. Uniform slate gray skies muted the jade, and merged into calm slate gray seas. Don't misunderstand, it is spectacular. But those conditions do not make for spectacular photographs. Our boat sailed through the serpentine mazes showing us island upon island- and set us free for unguided kayaking to explore on our own. Halong was certainly a worthy, beautiful stop. One day I'd like to return to when the sun is shining and take photos to do the place justice. Little did we know at the time, or appreciate, is the cool, dark conditions of Halong would be longed for later in the trip when the furnace was stoked and the real Vietnam weather kicked in. 

After Halong Bay, my buddy Jess and I declined the ride back to Hanoi, and instead flew from Haiphong (Vietnam's third largest city) to Danang to get to Hoi An. Haiphong was pleasant enough, however I did have one of the top 5 worst meals of my life. I'm not exactly sure what it was, but some platter with fried mystery substance (it could have been tofu), pork belly, something I think was blood sausage, and a dark dipping sauce of questionable ingredients. Later that night in Hoi An food poisoning set in, and a long night driving the porcelain bus ensued. I still cannot think of that meal without having a physical reaction. For the next three days, any off smell (good luck walking through a wet market) would send me dry heaving to the nearest riverbank. For the better part of 36 hours I consumed nothing other than Coke or a beer, the only thing my stomach would tolerate. Until the magic that was Banh mi Phuong. Reputed to be among the best banh mi in Vietnam, the barbecue pork banh mi woo'ed me into believing it was ok to eat again. Perfect bread, perfect sauce, and oh so delicious grilled pork. Stomach settling, life giving, vitality restoring. I will forever be grateful for this restaurant. I went back for three meals reluctant to trust anyone else with my recovering stomach (sorry Jess- I'm sure you wanted something else after the second meal). it was about this time that Vietnam decided to give the pasty Northwest Americans the real deal weatherwise, as well (all the more reason to eat not-scorching meals at Banh Mi Phuong, but I digress...). 

Heat. Hellish, sopping, all-encompassing, bone-seeping heat. I have heard that Vietnam is hot. I have even heard that heat is what you may most remember. That's like saying Elon Musk is wealthy. Or Nick Cage is quirky. It doesn't quite hit the mark of just how so it is. The first few days in SE Asia, it was in the mid-70's, cloudy, and quite comfortable. Then one transition day in Hoi An in the high 80's with humidity to match (a warm day in Mississippi) made me stop and appreciate the heat, and then the main event, heat wise- seven days followed with temps in the high 90's to low 100's, with heat indexes from 108 to 117. It simply was not possible to escape the heat. From the second you walked outside into what felt like a steam room in your local Y, until I returned to my airconditioned hotel room, I was lacquered with sweat. Sweat was the veneer that created a glistening omnipresent barrier between me and the world. Sweat in my eyes, sweat rendering my phone useless, sweat ensuring I could not get my cash out of my pocket. Everything sticky, everything damp. There is simply no way of overstating how hot it was. I couldn't help but think how in the name of all things holy did anyone fight a war in this? How did men schlep an M-16 through a rice field in full fatigues? How, did anyone do anything but sit on corner in the nearest town with a Coke and a banh mi, and say to hell with this, send me back to Minneapolis? The heat was all encompassing. The humidity was debilitating. In the mornings in Hoi An, I would read a book on the deck of the hotel overlooking the river. My novel grew in size each day as it sucked up moisture from the air. Women wore all-covering sunsuits including gloves. By midday everyone, including dogs, moved in a crawling amble if they were out at all. Heat became the factor by which all decisions were made. 

Hoi An is a lovely town in Central Vietnam. Its old, restored, was never bombed by us or the French, so is largely intact. It was a Japanese-built trading city from the 1500's or so. Those buildings still exist, and the streets winding through the ancient town are car free, filled with restaurants and shops, and the riverfront is packed with visitors, mostly hyper-friendly Australians, and restaurants and bars. Hoi An has also developed a large tailoring industry. Shop after shop cater to tourists seeking a cut-from-scratch suit made in about 3 days. We succumbed to the temptation, and I had a couple suits made and a bespoke pair of shoes to match. Prices are stupid by American standards- starting around $80 for questionable quality to around $150 for high quality fabric and decent tailoring. It's kind of a must do in Vietnam, and I'm pretty happy with the results. Hoi An is also quite close to the beach. One morning was spent biking out to see the ocean, and it certainly is pretty enough. Biking back I think I may have had my first case of heat stroke. By the time I returned to the hotel, the only thought I had was get the shower as cold as possible, and get it, I was so overheated. 

From Hoi An, we hired a car and driver to drive to Hue, our next stop, via the Hai Van Pass. Hai Van has become well known as the place Jeremy Clarkson had a couple of epiphanies- one, Vietnam is spectacular, and two, he was enjoying motorcycling (really scootering, in his case). Hai Van was beautiful. I wish Vietnam allowed personal rental cars or I had better motorcycle skills, because I would have loved to do that drive on my own, stopping at will for photographs. Rainforest clad mountains tumble down to white sand beaches in secluded coves, demanding further exploration. Unfortunately that was not a luxury I had, so a return trip will someday be in order. But in the meantime, my memories of Hai Van Pass are nearly as provocative as Clarkson's. 

From Hai Van, we arrived in the old imperial city of Hue. The Imperial Citadel was possibly the biggest surprise of the trip. I feel like it is undersold or underappreciated by the guidebooks I read. Beautiful, dramatic, east Asian architecture dots a compound surrounded by moats and high stone walls. Not perfectly restored, the citadel offers just enough faded atmosphere to remind you its old, and Vietnam is still not yet turning each of its monuments into Disneyland. The Citadel was constructed by the Nyugen emperors, and in its hey dey must have been spectacular. Enough remains that it demands a few hours of inspection, and richly rewards a photographer with even the slightest eye for depth and symmetry.  From the Citadel, it was out to visit some of the various tombs of the Nguyen emperors, each another beautiful example of Vietnamese design. While beautiful, by the time we arrived at the first, it was possibly the hottest afternoon experienced. This cut down on the desire to see too much more, or explore grounds comprehensively, but it was a great experience nonetheless. 

Hue was the last major stop. A night in the party city of Danang on the way back to Hanoi, where of course I partied so hard. And by party, I meant sit at a Portland, Oregon-bred brewpub on the beach in Danang, and watch the ocean as it turned to black as the sun went down, painting the distant hills above Hai Van as it went. Danang is best known in America as "China Beach" where soldiers were granted R&R. Now filled with package tourists from Korea and locals, it is packed with hotels and seafood restaurants, everyone is having a nice time, soccer and jet skis dominate the beach, and it seems a lifetime or two away from its rough past. 

The last memory I have of Vietnam was the cab ride to the airport on the way back from downtown Hanoi to the airport. The cab driver, true to my experience in the city, was all smiles, eager, and even more intent to welcome his guests. An entire conversation was had over 45 minutes by us each speaking questions and answers into Google translate. The young man was curious, proud of his city and country while frustrated at the slow pace of progress, and clearly loved people, and after many laughs, we had to together convince police to let us park on the airport drive because the Americans were fresh out of cash, and I needed to run to the money changer to change a greenback for some VN Dong to pay the man.

Vietnam is one of the youngest countries in Earth. Something like 65% of their population is under 25. This is likely why, the biggest name association for Americans, the Vietnam War, is just not much more than a blip here, at least on its surface. Sure, there are few trophies scattered around, and a bomb crater or two, but the war is not the pervasive lens the country views itself through. Nor did I feel one sliver of animosity as an American. It was described to me as they have fought the French, Chinese, Japanese, and yes, the Americans. To be Vietnamese historically has been to be at war. And they just can't be mad at everyone who has invaded. Or, to be more blunt, we are just not all that special. For that I am grateful. But one thing is clear. Vietnam is not the name of a war. Vietnam is a beautiful country, filled with beautiful people. 

Vietnam is fantastic. It's still not easy travel, but it's wonderful travel. People are warm and welcoming, the food is good (in Hanoi its way more than good), and the land is beautiful. Travel is slow, and it's just not possible to cover as much distance here in two weeks as you could in Japan or Europe. This time of year, the heat demands you go even slower. But if you want a place to plunge deep, test your limits just a bit, and learn a lot, then buy a ticket. Maybe let me know you're going and ask me to join. Just not in May.