Monday 20th October: We walk past an older Vietnamese lady, who is sweeping the pavement where she has set up her stall. "Beautiful, beautiful" she says to me emphatically as we pass. I am manifestly not and also on a bit of a route march so I don't really realise what she has said until I have passed her. Thankfully I have smiled at her by default as we approached but I am sad to have missed my chance to respond. When I turn back she is facing the other direction and has resumed sweeping so she doesn't see my belated acknowledgement but I can see from her cheeks that she is still smiling to herself. It doesn't matter to her whether I have responded. She's happy just to have said it.
Vietnamese people are marvellous. By which I mean that I actually marvel at them. It is always dangerous to make sweeping generalisations, and we have met the odd exception that proves the rule, but generally, meet a Vietnamese gaze and you will always be smiled at. Smile yourself and it grows even wider. Attempt, however badly, to say something in Vietnamese and the inevitable laughter is warm and often accompanied by an affectionate pat on the arm.
"The people here really like westerners" says O when we comment on the number of cheery 'hellos' we elicit as we walk down the streets. (Another reason to walk - braving the cacophony of motorbikes and the heat and the blisters. In the back of a taxi you have less time to smile.) Not for the first time, I wonder why. Tourists are often defensive and hassled looking. We are taught to distrust contact and that everyone who speaks or smiles to us wants something. Everybody is going to steal, beg or scam. Every price is hugely inflated. If there is anything I would say to someone thinking about visiting Vietnam, it's that these things are true for some people in some areas. But as for the rest, open yourself up a little and let yourself be embraced by the Vietnamese welcome. And if your Vietnamese is anywhere near as bad as ours is, a smile really is a universal language. Smile at a Vietnamese, even whilst shaking your head for 'no thank you', and it will almost always be returned with interest.
We get on a bus to Moi Ne, on the south coast of Vietnam. The bus itself is quite something. We have seats which operate like a bunk bed system. We climb a little ladder up to them. They fully recline and we have a blanket and a complimentary bottle of water. We take our shoes off as we get on, to keep the bus clean, and when we stop at a rest stop we are given a pair of flip flops to save us putting our shoes on all over again. The rest stop is more than long enough for even my legendary toilet needs, with time to spare to buy a satisfyingly ridiculous confection of a drink made of coconut milk, ice, agar jelly and about a ton of sugar. We paid approximately four pounds each for this eight hour journey. We were expecting something rather more like the 'VIP' bus we once took whilst on holiday in Thailand, which supplied dirty blankets, was infested with ants, and required you to fold yourself in two to get into the seat. Here we are serenaded with Vietnamese ballads, a far cry from the tinny pop beats emanating from the phones of teenagers both here and at home. Oh no. Would you listen again to that sentence. I am becoming old.
Who cares though. I'm still beautiful.
When we arrive at Moi Ne it is everything we expected. Being on the coast, it is something of a seaside resort. You know, kind of like Eastbourne.
We know from O that Vietnamese people holiday here too. At least the ones from the city. But others are working hard on their boats to catch enough fish to make a living. When we take a walk along the narrow strip of beach we find, along with the picturesque wooden fishing boats bobbing on the water, that we need to side step bits of colourful fishing net, crabs and fish which have been left behind, the detritus of the days haul. You don't get that in Eastbourne.
This, evidence of industry, far from being a marr on the landscape, to me, adds to it. I don't like to glamorise poverty, and the shacks along the beach front once you get out of the tourist resorts, do look as though living might be tough here, but they also look inviting. And they have a little more humanity to them than the identikit hotels.
Having said that, we are staying in one of these and it is ridiculously cheap and pretty much perfect. All you need is the view of the sea. The rest is window dressing. Our room is basic but we can, and do, sit on loungers facing away from the pool and out towards the horizon. The peace, coming from the noise of the city, is blissful.
After our evening walk on the beach we repair to a restaurant and eat tofu coconut curry sitting on floor cushions and watching the lights of the ships on the horizon. The only noise is the sway of palm trees. And you don't get that in Eastbourne either.
And the people? Apart from the odd unsmiling, rather demanding, tourist (it's out of season so there aren't many), they are Vietnamese. And the rest goes without saying.
I will say it though. We had been quite looking forward to meeting the receptionist after reading several reviews of our hotel on TripAdvisor, which all mentioned a dour woman on reception. One in particular, written by an especially disgruntled traveller, had us in fits of giggles. 'The only time she smiled on our whole trip', complains the author, 'was when a fellow traveller was struggling to get out of his room on crutches.' We imagined a Faulty Towers reception and quite looked forward to experiencing it. We were game for a bit of comically exaggerated grumpiness. Also, given what we have experienced so far, a grumpy Vietnamese would be a bit of a novelty in itself. When we arrive however, we are greeted by a young Vietnamese man who is friendliness itself. 'I give you a really nice room' he says conspiratorially to us, though I think it's the standard room we ordered. When M asks him about the opening hours of the hotels tour booking agency to book the bus back to the city on Thursday, he recommends a different bus company and offers to book it himself.
The man who operates the bike hire facility sits outside and greets us as we cross the road. He offers us a bike but doesn't mind when we say we don't want one today, and asks where we want to go as we are looking characteristically gormless. He explains exactly what is in each direction and is cheerful and smiley.
We go to the shop across the road to buy water. There are two small children sitting on the floor of the shop playing with toys made out of coconut shells. The shop lady beams as she catches M smiling at them. "Two!" she says proudly. We wave goodbye in Vietnamese and English. The children and their Mother keep waving until we are out of sight.
Beautiful.
P.S Just an aside, any ideas on this - in reception there is a drinks fridge. It is devoid of drinks but does contain a number of torn up books including, according to M, several pages from 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. M appears most conversant with the contents of this to be able to recognise it, but the real mystery is why the books are there in the first place. Who took such offence to these books that they felt the need to tear them up and refrigerate the remains?
Answers on a postcard please. The best one wins a trip to Eastbourne.
No comments:
Post a Comment