Vietnam The Centre

Our flight to Hue had been changed to a flight to Da Nang. The former travel agent was curious. “What do you mean, Hue airport is closed because of flooding!!”  Flooding wasn’t on the itinerary, but it nearly was.  The 6.3 km tunnel to Hue, a Japanese joint venture, was finished in 2005, and was a bonus.  In the dark we drove through villages, just lit, with everybody selling eucalyptus massage oils. The former forester was curious. “What do you mean, only gums would grow here”? Aaah, Agent Orange. Eucalyptus oil massage came off the itinerary.

Hue was drying out nicely, although the Perfume River had lost the aroma of flowers dropping from upstream orchards. Hue had been the imperial capital of Vietnam until 1945, when Uncle Ho persuaded Emperor Bao Din to take a really long trip to France, and that he and the boys in Hanoi would handle things for a while – quite a while.

The Imperial Citadel is still impressive, in spite of the hammering it took during the Tet Offensive of 1968.


Today the Flag Tower, at 37 metres, flies an enormous Vietnamese flag. It’s been destroyed a few times over 200 years, and even flew the flag of the People Liberation Front for 3.5 weeks. There’s some suggestion that it flew a US flag after that – for a couple of minutes.

The Citadel walls are 6 metres high, and are nearly 10 kilometres long. The gates on each side were for very specific purposes. The Ngo Mon gate faces the river. The centre gate was for the passage of the emperor, and interestingly enough, it is barred.
Gates on either side were for mandarins and court officials. Today they are for the collection of 50,000VND entry fee. Not a budget breaker at NZD3. It was from the top of this gate that Bao Din abdicated.

The surrounding moat is wide, and deep enough for fish. It seemed a little less perfumed than the river.
 

 The lotus pond inside the walls is now home to child-eating koi carp.

They’re willing to mark time with bread, but the sound of hundreds of carp smacking their lips nearly put us off our seafood lunch.

 

The Citadel is now a UNESCO heritage site, and as such, is getting some assistance to restore and rebuild. Lack of funds, a tropical monsoon climate and other priorities mean that most of the Citadel is in various states of disrepair and decomposition.
Oh yes, the bullets and the bombs did it no good at all either. First time we’ve been looking for bullet holes, and nearly fallen in a bomb crater.

Emperor Khai Dinh ruled for 9 years, 1916-25.  His tomb took 11 years to build, 1920-31. He got the French to increase the peasants’ taxes to help pay for it.

It was probably a good idea that he blew his own trumpet, tomb-wise, as nobody else would.

Start with 127 steep, stone steps.

Then throw a curious mixture of Eastern and Western architecture into the setup – with a lot of shiny stuff, like gold and mother-of-pearl - and you’ve got yourself one densely decorated memorial. One can only admire the craftsmanship of the artisans. It is hard to imagine it was only built in the 1920's.







In this most flexible of communist countries there is religious freedom for Vietnamese citizens. It would seem that people follow the principles of several religions, officially and unofficially. The government does “oversee” the organizations.

Buddhism is particularly strong in Hue, and the 400-year old Thien Mu Pagoda stands on a hill overlooking the Perfume River.

The tower is 7 storeys high, and its bell can be heard throughout the city. It’s a hot, steamy morning. The birds are singing, the gardens are green, and “DONGGGG”. You’re not in Paraparaumu now, my dears.

 Thankfully, the steep, stone steps to the top of the tower are not available to the tourist throng, but the wonderful gardens are.

But what is a 50-year old blue Austin doing in that shed?  

In that car, in June 1963, the Most Venerable Thich Quang Duc drove to Saigon to protest against the puppet government’s preference for Catholicism over other religions.
Take the photo, then find a nice quiet seat in the garden for a bit of a ponder. “DONGGG”.

Just out of Hue is the Duc Son Pagoda, small and discreet, and home to nearly 200 orphans, in the care of Buddhist nuns. Babies left on their doorstep, children from parents too poor to raise them, or orphans from the floods. They’re there until they can look after themselves, and that may be when they have finished university. Most of the children were at school, but we were taken to say hello to the babies.
 

 Happy, well-fed, well-loved and with a second chance. Goodness knows how they do it, when education is not free.

Jeremy Clarkson describes the road over the Hai Van Pass as “a deserted ribbon of perfection – one of the best coast roads in the world”. It’s what you do if you’re not taking the tunnel back to Da Nang. Jeremy was probably not driving a 12 seater van with an unusual relationship between clutch and gears, and it was certainly more deserted than if there had not been a nice long tunnel under us.  The sea fog rolled around, maintaining the spooky factor. Obviously this had been a very strategic area for centuries, not the least being the 20^th.

The French built their bunkers to last, until at least the next war.

 
We could look back to Lang Co beach, where we enjoyed The Best Vietnamese Coffee, and Bill could walk on the sand, deserted except for a few fishermen and money-changers.








We looked to the south, where China Beach is now 5 star hotel territory, and where access to the sea is quite forbidden, until you are staying in the aforementioned 5 star accommodation. We all took appropriate umbrage, this being a 3 star jaunt.

Marble Mountain has 5 peaks. We were taken to Thuy Son (Mountain of Water), the tallest of the five.  Good news. This year it got an elevator, thus reducing the 220 steep, stone steps to 120. Bad news – we came down an alternate route with no elevator. 

More good news. The mining of local marble for the innumerable marble factories has been banned, so Thuy Son doesn’t have to be re-named  Trickle Hollow.

The pagodas, gardens and marble caves were stunning. Nearly all the hawkers were at the bottom.

One wonderful, enterprising old lady was doing steady business, posing for photos with her betel nut smile, and delightful maroon outfit that wouldn’t show the stains. We felt we really knew her as another entrepreneur at a café in Hue had been selling photographic prints of said lady.  Our shots only cost 10,000 Dong

 
From the top there was an excellent view of  Da Nang Military Base (sorry, airport), and our lookout was obviously in the straight line of fire, judging by the bullet holes in walls. Well, honestly, who wouldn’t use Thuy Son as a strategic base. It certainly had a lot more going for it than the tunnels down south.






Hoi An is yet another UNESCO World Heritage site. It’s small (120,000), old, and a tourist town.

It also has a propensity to flood. While the former travel agent was scouring the web to see how the Mekong Delta was handling the long monsoon season, Hoi An was under water.

You Tube clips from 4 days before our arrival showed tourists rowing along the street in front of our hotel, in chest high water. The extraordinary thing is that the Old Town was completely cleaned up and open for business when we arrived..

 

And every second business is a tailor. Yaly Couture had been recommended to Bill by one of his bridge partners. He was instantly befriended by Lily and Jasmine (or something equally floral and friendly), especially when he nodded that he would like to look at “some of the better fabrics upstairs”.






Before he could blink he’d chosen his buttons, sorted out his vents and was standing naked from the waist up against a wall to have his mug shot taken. Confession of a very amateur photographer: I was laughing so much I missed taking a photo of the episode. Apparently it was so the tailor could get an idea of his physique, to add to all the measurements. Personally, I’m quite happy he didn’t order a pair of trousers too.


 Hoi An Old Town is a pedestrian precinct.  Walkers and primitive vehicles only.

The perimeter streets were bedlam, but remember, this is a tourist town. We are the golden geese. Step out with confidence.  We were very grateful to be able to do a walking tour of the Old Town. So much nicer  than the rowing tour of the previous week.  Hoi An was an important port town from the 15^th century, and there are still evidence of the wealthy trading communities.

The Japanese covered bridge dates from this time, as does the Chinese Phuc Kien Assembly Hall.   

  There were several old assembly halls – where the Cantonese could assemble – but they served religious purposes as well, especially for safety at sea.








Mr Phoenix for Prosperity has his place, as always.





One of the highlights for us was our cycling trip out to the beach.  Bionic Biddy needed a few reassurances from Thach.  “Is it flat?” “Yes”. Should have asked, is it flat and above water, the reply to which would have been “not all the time”.  “Thach, will we be on country roads, away from the traffic?” “Yes”.  True answer: “but not all the time”.  We were on little country roads within minutes, with only a few, careful motorbike riders.

The potholes are called “chicken holes” but it can be hard to spot them when the whole road is mud and underwater. There was only a little bit of that, but enough to make me squeak. Coming back into town from the beach, along the main road, I was rendered speechless with fear, sharing the road with tooting army trucks , and trying to get through the green traffic lights before they counted down to zero, leaving me marooned. It was great!!

It was pretty special, filing along the canal paths, giving the farmers their moment of entertainment.

Their smiles and greetings certainly seemed genuine.









The trip also gave more opportunity for the inter-spouse photographic competition. Votes are not necessary on this one.  “He” has conceded to “her” that she did a better job.

 
















 By now our group was getting the hint that Thach liked to do things early.  I think he liked to get to historic sites well before the milling throng, and My Son (pronounced mee-soon) was no exception.

It’s a small site; it bucketed while we were there, and when we were done, there were as many buses in the car park as there had been people when we arrived.  Good man, Thach. My Son was the spiritual headquarters of the Champa people who controlled central Vietnam for over a thousand years. All the temples are built of bricks but no mortar. Nobody has been able to work out how. 





It’s another UNESCO World Heritage site, and further attempts to replace some of the brickwork have been vetoed because the new bricks look so weird – and loose.


Being a pragmatic people, when the Champas had to move, they took the tops of their statues. That gave them a good head start (sorry) for the next temple site.




We were pleased to find some heads, alone, in the Museum of Vietnamese History in Ho Chi Minh City.  It might have been quite a mystery if we hadn’t first trudged around My Son, complete with torrential rain and very treacherous B52 bomb craters. The Americans thought the VC was hiding themselves and weaponry at My Son – and what’s the bet?

The open-sided theatre was very welcome. It had a roof, and the rain was heavy. The dancing reflected the Indian origins of the Champa people.  The men wagged their head toggles wonderfully, and the girls wagged everything else. 21^st century liberties had been taken with the girls’ costumes. Lurex is ideal, isn’t it?







So, farewell walking streets and primitive vehicles. Roll on Ho Chi Minh City – home to 9 million people and 1 gazillion motorbikes.