12/12/2011 - Visa Vie - Big Problem
_From the moment Dave and I got to Incheon airport, mounting
problems were creepily beginning to rear their awkward heads. There is good
news. I am in Vietnam.
I am writing this on a bus (again), en route from Halong to Hue,
the old capital of Vietnam.
Firstly, getting into Vietnam was harder than I anticipated. Arriving at Incheon airport, we were told it wouldn’t be possible to enter the country without an acceptance letter for our Visa. This is something I really, really should’ve sorted long before but didn’t. A day late, a flight changed and a Visa letter fast-tracked ($40 and no personal details required – an opening insight to the power of money here) and the China Southern Airline flight containing me mate Dave and I left for Guangzhou first, then Hanoi.
Arriving in Hanoi, Dave discovered that his photo for his Visa was in his luggage, which was of course, in storage. The no-nonsense man behind the counter sharply told him “No photo no visa” before accepting two dollars and saying nothing more about it. A man, who I believe was French, so I shall name him Pierre, said he comes to Vietnam all the time. Pierre said that everything has a price, which is ruining the country. So far, this system was working well for us.
The first thing that struck me was the harassment. Coming out of the airport a wave of oppressive taxi drivers flew forward, shouting, grabbing, jostling. We just wanted five minutes to collect ourselves and even tried hiding from them but their persistence was relentless. Many horror stories have arisen from the threatening nature of Vietnamese taxi drivers, stories of driving into the countryside and demanding large sums of cash. With this in mind, wariness began to combine with weariness as we stepped in to the taxi of a seemingly reputable taxi firm, $13 fee previously negotiated.
Firstly, getting into Vietnam was harder than I anticipated. Arriving at Incheon airport, we were told it wouldn’t be possible to enter the country without an acceptance letter for our Visa. This is something I really, really should’ve sorted long before but didn’t. A day late, a flight changed and a Visa letter fast-tracked ($40 and no personal details required – an opening insight to the power of money here) and the China Southern Airline flight containing me mate Dave and I left for Guangzhou first, then Hanoi.
Arriving in Hanoi, Dave discovered that his photo for his Visa was in his luggage, which was of course, in storage. The no-nonsense man behind the counter sharply told him “No photo no visa” before accepting two dollars and saying nothing more about it. A man, who I believe was French, so I shall name him Pierre, said he comes to Vietnam all the time. Pierre said that everything has a price, which is ruining the country. So far, this system was working well for us.
The first thing that struck me was the harassment. Coming out of the airport a wave of oppressive taxi drivers flew forward, shouting, grabbing, jostling. We just wanted five minutes to collect ourselves and even tried hiding from them but their persistence was relentless. Many horror stories have arisen from the threatening nature of Vietnamese taxi drivers, stories of driving into the countryside and demanding large sums of cash. With this in mind, wariness began to combine with weariness as we stepped in to the taxi of a seemingly reputable taxi firm, $13 fee previously negotiated.
_
Not five minutes down the road the driver pulled over. Fear began to rise,
commencing the battle with logic. The driver began scouring a map of Hanoi,
the city he should really know as well as his own name. We are headed to the
Old Quarter, it’s very central, and the backpackers’ hostel is supposedly well
known, judging by the flyer in the Airport.
After continuing down the highway for less than ten minutes, he pulled over again. We were on the side of the highway in the arse end of nowhere in the middle of night. After a mentally draining amount of time the wheels began to move and we were on our way again.
The drive took ages. There were no lights in sight. Questions arose in my mind about the direction of travel and what possible ugly finale this ride could provide. We passed a bike crash. Nice. Dave asked me if I would be capable of holding my own in a violent confrontation with someone like this. Probably not is the honest truth, but he would have to be brave if he was to try and pull a fast one with two mid-to-late-twenty-somethings.
After many stoppages for directional assistance, the taxi came to a stop down a very shabby street. Ahead, a rather large cherry picker blocked the road. It’s time for us to get out and walk, he indicated. It sounded a terrible idea. He was adamant that if we go straight we’ll arrive at the hostel.
After continuing down the highway for less than ten minutes, he pulled over again. We were on the side of the highway in the arse end of nowhere in the middle of night. After a mentally draining amount of time the wheels began to move and we were on our way again.
The drive took ages. There were no lights in sight. Questions arose in my mind about the direction of travel and what possible ugly finale this ride could provide. We passed a bike crash. Nice. Dave asked me if I would be capable of holding my own in a violent confrontation with someone like this. Probably not is the honest truth, but he would have to be brave if he was to try and pull a fast one with two mid-to-late-twenty-somethings.
After many stoppages for directional assistance, the taxi came to a stop down a very shabby street. Ahead, a rather large cherry picker blocked the road. It’s time for us to get out and walk, he indicated. It sounded a terrible idea. He was adamant that if we go straight we’ll arrive at the hostel.
Morning, 'Nam
_We had no choice. Taxi driver had no change for dollars so
we ended up paying more anyway and walked on. Dodging the truck in the road,
one thing was very apparent. Hanoi
is dead in the dead of night. Very, very little was open. We saw a taxi, and
asked the driver where the hostel was. He pointed down the street. We saw no
lights. We got there. Something was wrong; the flyers depicting foreigners
enjoying a hard night of drinking are obviously pictures of deceit. The Drift
hadn’t even been built yet.
Luckily the taxi driver from before whisked us to the Hanoi Backpackers and we got a room, had a few drinks and bedded down for the night, exhausted.
We peeled ourselves out of bed the next morning and headed out to explore the capital of Vietnam. As soon as we turned out of the backstreet we were staying on, the sheer volume of traffic was overwhelming. It was like a river, packed full of fish, side-by-side and inches apart. The scooters nipped down the road, horns aplenty, rasping loudly, rushing this way and that, into oncoming traffic, whatever. Adjectives such as chaos and pandemonium don’t even come close to explaining the roads, or indeed the country for the most part.
Luckily the taxi driver from before whisked us to the Hanoi Backpackers and we got a room, had a few drinks and bedded down for the night, exhausted.
We peeled ourselves out of bed the next morning and headed out to explore the capital of Vietnam. As soon as we turned out of the backstreet we were staying on, the sheer volume of traffic was overwhelming. It was like a river, packed full of fish, side-by-side and inches apart. The scooters nipped down the road, horns aplenty, rasping loudly, rushing this way and that, into oncoming traffic, whatever. Adjectives such as chaos and pandemonium don’t even come close to explaining the roads, or indeed the country for the most part.
Halong
_Heading out that evening in Hanoi
wasn’t as easy as expected, as nearly everything shut up at either 11 or 12. We
started off at Mr Buffalo’s Tequila Bar, which didn’t offer much Tequila, but
here I met Lon, a twenty-something self-made entrepreneur. In what, he didn’t
say. Regardless, he showed me his brand new Canon Eos 600 and rather nice
laptop, so he must be pretty good at what he does. After chatting we asked some
inevitable questions: Do you hate Americans? No. Do you hate the French? No.
Why? Because after so many wars Vietnam
is just happy to be at peace. Fair enough.
Peace. Peaceful, Hanoi is not. Me mate Dave and I checked out a few bars, and on the way home two ladies accosted us, offering ‘boom boom’, one on foot, one on bike. One, who seemed particularly enamoured with Dave, had a face that was a bit like a mashed pancake. Needless to say, their offers were not tempting in the slightest. Dave, wisely, handed me his wallet when Pancakeface decided to attempt to fondle his testiclay via the pocket. After repeated polite attempts to get rid of her, Dave finally managed to tear her loose, and she jumped on the bike and buggered off. Dave and I looked at each other, thanking whatever Gods may be that that was over, before he shouted ‘Cheeky Bitch’ down the road, on the realisation that Pancakeface had stolen his phone. Unluckily for her, it’s a Korean phone and won’t work in Vietnam.
Phong is 30 years old. She owns and runs My Ngoc hotel in Cat Ba, Halong bay. She works 14 hours every day, without break, and lives there with countless other family members. She doesn’t like Chinese people. Her husband, 27, works in Hanoi and can only return on Friday night until Sunday night. For 4 dollars each, for a double room with a sea view, her hotel was, for us, an absolute steal. We got scooters through her, booked our boat trip around the bay with her, and booked the bus south with her. To us, she was certainly the hostess with the mostess.
In the picture above is the boat driver who ferried us from Cat Ba Harbour to a floating restaurant. We paid about $20 for fresh shellfish that was kept in nets in the sea beneath the restaurant. It was simplistic, but so, so good; I don't think there is a way to eat fresher. The prawns were massive, the clams exceptional, and we treated ourselves to some weird shellfish that were kind of half langoustine half lobster. A lobgoustine, I suppose.
Peace. Peaceful, Hanoi is not. Me mate Dave and I checked out a few bars, and on the way home two ladies accosted us, offering ‘boom boom’, one on foot, one on bike. One, who seemed particularly enamoured with Dave, had a face that was a bit like a mashed pancake. Needless to say, their offers were not tempting in the slightest. Dave, wisely, handed me his wallet when Pancakeface decided to attempt to fondle his testiclay via the pocket. After repeated polite attempts to get rid of her, Dave finally managed to tear her loose, and she jumped on the bike and buggered off. Dave and I looked at each other, thanking whatever Gods may be that that was over, before he shouted ‘Cheeky Bitch’ down the road, on the realisation that Pancakeface had stolen his phone. Unluckily for her, it’s a Korean phone and won’t work in Vietnam.
Phong is 30 years old. She owns and runs My Ngoc hotel in Cat Ba, Halong bay. She works 14 hours every day, without break, and lives there with countless other family members. She doesn’t like Chinese people. Her husband, 27, works in Hanoi and can only return on Friday night until Sunday night. For 4 dollars each, for a double room with a sea view, her hotel was, for us, an absolute steal. We got scooters through her, booked our boat trip around the bay with her, and booked the bus south with her. To us, she was certainly the hostess with the mostess.
In the picture above is the boat driver who ferried us from Cat Ba Harbour to a floating restaurant. We paid about $20 for fresh shellfish that was kept in nets in the sea beneath the restaurant. It was simplistic, but so, so good; I don't think there is a way to eat fresher. The prawns were massive, the clams exceptional, and we treated ourselves to some weird shellfish that were kind of half langoustine half lobster. A lobgoustine, I suppose.
Big Floaters
_Halong Bay
is quite possibly the most extraordinary place I have ever been to. Stark
limestone islands rise triumphantly out of the water, peaks that have sheer
cliff faces, with some reaching over 300
metres in height. There are 1936 islands and the views
around the bay, on the top deck of a junk-style boat, are constantly
exceptional. Panoramic visions of titanic monoliths, unperturbed and unspoilt,
constantly filled our eyes on the 8 hour trip. What was perhaps the most
significant sight was the floating towns; row upon row of small wooden islands
with a building plonked on top of it, connected to its neighbour by a length of
rope. Some of the people who live there have apparently never stepped foot on
land.
After paying Phong, packing our bags, and stepping on to the bus in brilliant sunshine, it was time to be on our very merry way.
After paying Phong, packing our bags, and stepping on to the bus in brilliant sunshine, it was time to be on our very merry way.
_7/12
Sick. Late. Hot. Thirsty. Tired. Stressed.
My bank wouldn’t transfer my savings. The disconnection fee for my phone was a very much needed 50-odd quid. It took ages. I ran to the bank, 20kg backpack rocking jauntily I hasted up the street. The machine denies my request, telling me to ‘refer to teller’. There is no time. I run. And run. And make the bus.
I haven’t even left Korea yet to begin the trip of a lifetime and already the problems are mounting. Dave (my travelling partner for the Vitetnam leg of the trip) and I didn’t realise that we had to probably maybe have a visa sorted before we leave. There is a possibility we will get turned away at Hanoi, at 11 55 tonight.
Suffice to say, as beginnings go, this isn’t the greatest.
As I write this, the bus is pulling out of Youngtong-Dong, Suwon in South Korea. After 20 months or so of teaching English, I have enough money to explore, go wild, be let loose over south east Asia for four months. That is, providing I can do so at the Airport, transfer my millions of Won into my English account, which is usable anywhere.
Goodbyes. The hardest thing about saying hello is saying goodbye. I have said more bye byes, farewells and Aanyong-ee kaseyos over the last few days then ever before. It was horrendous. Some of the people I have said goodbye to have made my time in Korea truly enjoyable, and then before you know it, you’re holding these people in your arms, feeling awkward because you don’t know what to say to someone whom you have never had nothing to say.
I am meeting Dave at the check in desk at 12 30. Hopefully, the next thing I will be writing will be from a bar in Hanoi. If it isn’t, then it’s my own stupid fault for not doing my homework.