Marg
lagged behind engaged in a deep conversation with a Vietnamese
local. She has a long talk to him about working with sheep...
until she finally realizes he is talking about his work on a ship! |
It was a strangely spooky and sombre drive through the
dark streets of Ho Chi Minh City as our taxi searched its way toward
the Saigon Train Station. The bustling loud city seemed reduced and
quiet at this time of night. The only real lighting was our dim yellow
headlights picking out the white painted tree trunks on route. The puzzle
of the whitewashed trees was solved. At night they became markers rather
than obstacles. With overnight packs in our laps we felt like refugees
fleeing home in the dead of night. The trip was just beginning but we
already felt dog tired. It was nearly midnight and way past the kid’s
bedtime as they struggled to stay awake.
The
mood lifted when we entered the station and spotted the food stalls
in the waiting room. It’s wonderful what the prospect of treats
can do for a child’s spirits. A patient attendant waited as a
concentrated debate ensued on the merits of soft jubes as opposed to
hard sucking lollies. God help her if she didn’t give them an
equal selection! Like a nervous batsman I loitered about looking through
doors and trying to work out the correct platform while worrying that
we’d missed the train. Marg likes to cut things to the last second
and was out on the street looking for bottled water. This habit of the
family splitting up at crucial times does sometimes make me feel like
head-butting the wall. I began to calm down as I realized there seemed
to be only one platform and one train and it was sitting there hissing
but not yet open for boarding.
The Vietnamese train network is pretty simple. In this
long and slim country it is really just a straight line running North
to South or vice versa. So we were at the end of the line with one place
to go. North. I found this reassuring because it dawned on me that at
least we couldn’t get on a train going in the wrong direction.
Marg casually reappeared strolling along looking for further goodies
to buy. I asked her if it would be OK now to go and look for our train!
As we waited to board the normal tension built in the
crowd. We all had tickets but somehow we all wanted to get on first.
At least the foreign tourists did, the locals showed more dignity. Maybe
it had something to do with us all wanting to get the best bunks. I
am ashamed to admit I hatched a plan to go in first and fast and claim
bunks for the children (and us). Previous experience in China had taught
us that the bottom bunks become communal during the day and wouldn’t
that be dreadful! Not. I greeted the family with a smug smile and showed
them their lovely room. The kids jumped on the beds, explored the nooks
and crannies and soon had Spot and the beanie kids lined up looking
out the window. Short of repainting it a different colour, our presence
seemed to be making a strong claim on the cabin. Soon two Vietnamese
woman joined us in our compartment. To their great credit they calmly
accepted their fate with our motley crew. They were so polite and understanding
that we quickly relaxed in their company. The children beamed as the
train started to move and the station lights receded into the night.
With noses to the window we watched the flicking village lights but
were soon asleep as we rocked our way north.
Mercifully the early morning call was a polite knock on
our door not Marshall Music or the local top of the pops as we once
experienced in China. We had just completed our breakfast of steaming
rice and vegetables in small aluminium punnets washed down by green
tea when the train rolled into the coastal town of Na Trang.
After
Saigon the station seemed quiet and calm befitting its provincial status.
We were confronted with taxi and accommodation options but here the
shootout only involved two earnest contenders. Joe by this stage was
negotiating best price and after a few “too much, too much,”
we had our man and were heading confidently toward the Hai Yen Hotel.
The streets are wide and spacious, set out in a neat grid behind a very
long straight beach. Fascinating accommodation options present themselves
along the foreshore ranging from the exquisite villas of the Ana Mandara
Resort to state run guest houses and cheap backpackers. The lodgings
I had carefully chosen was a cross between a Butlin camp and a jaded
University residence. In many ways tailor-made to our needs and budget.
Yes the rooms were plain and basic but I argued clean and airy. The
clincher was our marvelous balcony view over the South China Sea. The
swimming pool was huge and meant business, great for a hundred conference
delegates to improve their lap times. No fancy palm trees or rounded
edges and a water slide with the solid design of a Russian tank. Food
(breakfast included!) was laid on in a massive dining hall, a self-serve
heaven for the kids.
Our
first expedition to the beach turned into a surreptitious food critic’s
tour. Restaurants of all styles and standards lined the route with open
patios leading onto the sand. The choice between budget and delicious
Vietnamese fare, the Indian Omar Khayyam, the Western Na Trang Sailing
Club or the Louisiane Café. Slowly and surely over the next week
we completed our assessments and found none wanting. Day two and we
had the routine sussed.
An early breakfast at the hotel with the challenge to sample everything.
Banana lounges and ice-cream beachside until noon. A long lunch and
siesta in a cool hotel room (the midday sun is withering!). Poolside
PM to avoid the regular afternoon wind and sand blowing hard in shore.
Promenade at dusk to the huge open square and War Memorial Obelisk to
watch kite flying and kids cavort in the balmy night. Finally dinner
served in a variety of restaurants but all looking out over a calm sea
to Bamboo Island. Noosa eat your heart out.
It
took a supreme effort to drag ourselves away from this idyllic setting
and visit the nearby Long Son Pagoda and Giant Seated Buddha. At the
entrance to the Pagoda we were high jacked by an old man determined
to show us an adjoining temple. We found ourselves on a winding rubbish-covered
mountain track. In the midday heat and flies it seemed he was leading
us to the town tip. Joe and I lag behind whinging until Marg tells us
through gritted teeth to get a grip. By the time we arrived at the temple
ten minutes later I am sweating profusely everywhere but particularly
from the nose which is not a dignified look for a man in control. Worse
I am mopping my brow with a hanky while local urchins beg me to buy
postcards. I feel like a very ugly tourist in a sticky situation.
The moment passes as we retire to the cool of the inner courtyard.
We complete a circuit tour to the hilltop Buddha and down to the ornate
Pagoda which is teeming with devotees. Into this throng walk a group
of elegant silk-clothed monks. We watch enthralled as they begin to
drop coins on the ground and then in horror as temple guardians beat
the crushing crowd back with sticks. We hustle the children away and
it is a relief to get back to our beach oasis.
In contrast our trip to the Na Trang Oceanic Institute started poorly
but ended in style. We considered diverting back to the beach when our
taxi pulled up outside its drab and factory like entrance. The basic
concrete fish tanks looked like holding pens for a canary. We were moving
quickly through the displays until an enthusiastic young attendant began
explaining the fish to the children. Her manner was contagious and we
particularly liked her commentary on the upside down sharks. Marg lagged
behind engaged in a deep conversation with a Vietnamese local. She has
a long talk to him about working with sheep... until she finally realizes
he is talking about his work on a ship! The visit ends in an amazing
grand room of colonial splendour with slowly circling ceiling fans and
large open louvered windows. The entire space is filled with a fantastic
collection of marine specimen jars meticulously collected over many
years. It looks like someone’s lifetime of work that some how
serenely survived Vietnam’s years of turmoil.
Na
Trang would not be complete without a boat trip through its turquoise
waters to view the abundant coral reefs and numerous surrounding islands.
The Mama Linh boat trip to Monkeys Island was promoted in a modest way
as a fantastic, famous, once in a lifetime entertainment experience.
How could we resist? It was a fun trip with the crew exhibiting a fine
sense of the ridiculous. Over lunch on deck they set themselves up as
an improvised rock band wearing swim goggles and reverse baseball headgear.
They punched out a mighty beat on old guitars and a drum kit of pots
and pans. Each tourist nationality was treated to a song. The Swiss
to Edelweiss, Aussies and Brits to Waltzing Matilda (covers both apparently)
and the Yanks to a wild tabletop version of Lets Twist Again. Like Australians
they seem to have a dry sense of humour and a quick and easy knack of
laughing at themselves. I admired and envied their ability to enjoy
the moment. The kids swam like fish, adored the seafood lunch and loved
the crew acting like big kids. A grand finale for NaTrang.
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