Dave the Nomad

As I knew from my water blessing by the monks in Siem Reap, the Cambodian New Year was approaching, and I was happy to leave the country before the holidays started. Unfortunately, my bus was stuck in gridlock traffic leaving the country, and we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) about 5 hours late.

I only spent two weeks in Vietnam, as I am behind schedule, and wanted to spend as much time in China to make up for the high cost of my visa; this also meant I missed out on visiting Laos. Before traveling to Vietnam, I talked to many fellow travelers who were unimpressed with Vietnam, and said it embraced too much cookie-cutter tourism ploys; sadly I had couldn’t disagree.

Vietnam is a war-torn country which is striving to find its identity again after years of tumultuous fighting with the French, Chinese, and Americans in the last century. I do not want to belittle the conflict that has taken place here, but it seems the new war in Vietnam is that of the wayward traveler trying to find genuine people to meet, and glimpses into the real Vietnam. The devastating effects of chemical deforestation and charred towns has offered Vietnamese level ground; perfect to build a vast tourism industry. Unfortunately, this means everyone looks to foreign money for income, be it hokey tours or straight exploitation. The native faces are bent in latent unwelcoming angry poses, unless there is a chance you will be giving them money. It is a stark difference from the Thai’s beaming smiles and amiable attitude.

I visited the War Remnants Museum in former Saigon, which presented ‘the American War’ in biased favor of the Viet Cong, making a one-sided argument against the oppression of foreign influence. However, it was hard to ignore the grotesque effects of deforesting agents like Agent Orange on the Vietnamese population.

I found myself trying to make the most of the country, and started by negotiating with a local to take me to a non-tourist section of the Cu Chi Tunnels outside of Saigon. The Cu Chi Tunnels is an infamous area north of the Mekong Delta and west of Siagon were Vietnamese embedded their livelihood underground, and waged a successful guerrilla front against occupying forces. There is a group of original tunnels about 25 km away from the touristy widened tunnels for the larger foreigner clientèle, which are rarely visited, which I planned to check out with Travis from Vancouver.

After riding on the back of mopeds for almost two hours we stopped for lunch, our guide tried to bring us to the tourist tunnels, hoping we wouldn’t notice the two dozen buses in the large parking lot. Unimpressed with his sly ploy he reluctantly brought us the rest of the way to the other tunnel system. This area was tastefully developed into a beautiful park, but it was hard to see more than a handful of other people. The tour was informative, and fun, and I was happy to take the extra time to visit the real thing. I managed to squeeze into one of the real-life sized VC holes, and enjoyed putzing through the underground maze of rooms.

After leaving the moped insanity of Saigon, I went to the beach towns of Mui Ne and Nha Trang. Both of these were a pleasant escape from the city. Mui Ne is a kite-surfing haven, but unfortunately the winds were unkind, and I instead visited the nearby red sand dunes, and white sand dunes. Although they were very beautiful, they were paltry in comparison to Warren Dunes close to my home in Indiana; at best they were 1/3 the size of my hometown dunes. Nha Trang was a nice town, but very over-priced with highlights including a water park, and cheap scuba diving. Thankfully, I visited both of these towns with a large group of friends, and we made the most of these beach side towns. My favorite experience was walking along the beach in Nha Trang near the famous Sailing Club bar and being offered a platter of decadent shellfish for only 10 euro. Our host for lunch was a petite Vietnamese woman who was jolly, insisted on dancing with her fingers in the air and shouting, “Oh My God! Delicious!” as she roasted our food on a small wood fire while wearing her blue moped helmet. The food was fantastic, and it was a nice change to see a smiling Vietnamese person.

The last stop of on my journey was in the capital Hanoi. I insisted on taking the local 22-hour train instead of the flight as I firmly believe this is a better way to meet real people in any country. Thankfully, Vietnam upheld these expectations just as I was losing hope. My five Vietnamese cabin mates stared at me as we prepared to sleep through the night. I was awakened in the morning to one of the guys poking me with food and a beer they bought me. Now, this wouldn’t be as much of an issue if they decided to wake up at a casual time, but the cabin was alive with activity at 7 am. Furthermore, I can firmly say having a beer can cracked open in your face is not the most pleasant way to wake up, but I was happy to have the hospitality. My beer and vinegar egg and rice breakfast wasn’t the most appetizing, but the smiling faces certainly were.

I stepped off the train in Hanoi rested, and ready to stretch my legs. I opted not to travel to Halong Bay as I had a limited amount of time, and there was no good way to visit the beautiful bay filled with steep jutting islands without paying a ghastly amount for a day trip, or avoiding poorly reviewed cheaper options. I decided this would be a great jumping off point on a return trip to visit Laos and the Philippines, and stuck to exploring the city limits before heading off to China. I like to think with more time, Vietnam will emerge a country proud of its heritage, willing and capable of holding its traditions over tourism…and I also like to think with more time to explore it, I would be able to find the Vietnam I was truly out to experience.

I made a short stop in Marseilles, and was glad I wasn’t staying longer. I stayed in a Hostel International (HI) Hostel, which is wonderful for school groups, families, and the quintessential weird roommate. They are usually located in an inconvenient location and have early curfews, … it was also my only affordable option in town. I tried to redeem the stay by hiking along the coast back into town with some success. In the distance you can see the island prison immortalized by Alexander Dumas’ Count of Monte Cristo. Unfortunately, the winds and waves were too rough for the ferry to run, and I hopped on a train for Nice.

Nice was really nice. I stayed at a monastery which was converted into a youth hostel. The staff was extraordinarily nice, from picking you up in a shuttle to personally helping you plan your day each morning at breakfast. This is definitely a place not to miss! Check under the ‘Where I’ve Been’ Link for contact details.

The area around Nice is absolutely beautiful, with high cliffs and protected beaches, this is the base of the French Riviera. I spent a whole day lounging on the beach in VilleFrenche, which is just east of Nice and has a scallop shaped beach with crystal clear water. With the aid of some goggles I was off for the longest swim since being abroad. It wasn’t very far, but watching the fields of sea grass and clusters of fish swim by was a welcome change. Until I got stung in the chin by a jellyfish. It was at this point that I realized how hard it is to vent your frustration with jellyfish. I could see him with my goggles on, but unlike a dog you could kick after it bites you, a jellyfish is much more intangible. You can’t hit it, you can’t yell at it with any result, but if you get too close again you probably will get stung again. The only feasible solution I could think of was a perimeter ring of sea turtles swimming around me eating any potential jellyfish.

After, warming up on the beach I decided to visit a bar that my friend Marianne suggested to me. She frequented the bar often while studying abroad in Nice, and told me to stop in and say hi to the owners and drink a pint. The bar is called O’haras, and is located near the market area in the old town. The owners are from Britain, and have been in Nice for the last 23 years. When they opened, they were the first pub, and remained the only pub until 13 years ago. The bar is small, but packed with character, and the owners are quite chatty if you get them going. The wood paneling, row of distinctly single malt whiskey, low lighting, and TVs conjures images of a seaside pub too small for the brawls of sailors, but cozy and welcoming to the traveling soul. It was a great way to end the day.

I have to say, the Bavarians know how to have fun. There is nothing quite like watching thousands and thousands of people sit, stand, and meander around singing, drinking beer, and eating superfluously large pretzels. I definitely underestimated the immensity of this event. Take a large carnival, and take the big tent at the carnival, now put twelve of these tents together, and pack each one full with thousands of people drinking and singing.

2010 will be bringing around the 200th annual celebration of this wedding gift to the wife of Bavaria’s King. The Bavarians had so much fun the first year, that they recommence the 12 day celebration every year. If you are planning to come on a weekend, go early, grab a table and make some friends. If you go after noon, the lines will be out the door to get into the tents, and once you’re in you have to be “seated” to get a beer. I say “seated” because its more of a place on a bench at a table in which is yours to sit, stand on, sing, cheer, and in olden days pissed from until you get up.

As I was leaving the first night with close to no voice from singing a veritable mixture of songs, my new German friends insisted on having me ride every single roller coaster with them… Starting with Olympia, which was a 5 loop coaster in the form of the Olympic Rings. Definitely fun, but nothing compared to the world’s fastest and tallest coasters at Cedar Point back in America. Beer isn’t served after 11 pm at the latest, but you’re welcome to stay and sing, or as I did enjoy the festival outside. The next morning, I went at opening and went to as many tents as possible to scope out the scene before it was too crowded. To be honest, if you’ve been to one of them you essentially have been to all of them. I stopped and had a liter in a couple, and then went to the debaucher of tents – Hofbrau. This tent is infamously packed with foreigners and a never ending party including a standing section!

No matter your take on this event the Germans remember that this is a happy time, and they have kept it as a happy and fun event….even with the Aussies. Yes, those beer loving Aussies flock to this event with zero inhibitions and a lemming-over-the cliff like mindset. The Germans seemed happy to have us there so long as one kept some amount of decorum and respect for the whole event. To them its a social time to remember, not forget from too much alcohol. With this thought in mind, the translation for the song they play every 10 minutes says “Cheers to the feelings, cheers to the feelings, we’re experiencing right now with everyone here.”

If Las Vegas is Sin City, this place must be hell. I could rant and rave like the giddy Americans taking pictures of menus in coffeeshops and smoking ridiculously large blunts, or the red light district’s temptation of lustful release and bizarre feats, but this all seems to be part of a larger idea called Amsterdam.

You won’t see many Dutch out in coffeeshops getting so stoned they lose their belongings or stumble into the canal, and they usually visit the red light district on Monday nights when all the shops are close. To a native Amsterdamite these are just small aspects of everyday life, they aren’t a highlight, or something to be abused out of proportion. Yet, they are all so happy, and of course open-minded. These unique “rights” are to many of us novelties, but to them it is a symbol of their tolerance and ability to indulge responsibly. I wonder how America would function with similar policies implemented. Would government regulation lead to more control, happier citizens, and more tolerance for different ideas?

Deep thoughts and politics aside, this place really is awesome. Someone told me to get a general idea of the city, look at a map and unfocus your eyes. It should look like a spider web; if you’re lost walk to the middle and start over. If you spent any significant amount of time in A’dam you should have a Pavlovian response to bicycle bells and making sure you don’t get side swiped. There always seems to be something going on in this bustling city, and I decided to rent a bike to ride around and check it out. Lots of fun, just make sure to get off the bike, sit outside a cafe, relax, and enjoy the scenery, boats, etc.

Besides the normal “novelties,” there was one place in particular I wanted to check out, Vondal Park. When my dad visited here, you could actually camp in this city park with crowds of other people. Presently, the park is in the midst of an epic makeover. Large sections of the park were gated off as bulldozers and earthmovers skated around the paths. Thankfully, there was still ample green space to sit down and relax. I ended up spending the good part of a day here relaxing with some people and taking a catnap in the sun. Everyone is very friendly, and there were still some hippie circles playing songs that sounded a bit too much like kumbuya for my taste. Nonetheless, its a great place to relax, and certainly embodies the whole livelihood of Amsterdam.

I’d be crazy not to mention the canals. Water-lovers beware this is an intoxicating mixture of urban life, and boating. Cruise the canal at night, or pile in a bunch of pillows and take a “Sunday drive” around the city, stop at a cafe. To me I love the fact a city can have such a well made fluid infrastructure, then again, leave it to the country that is under sea level to undergo such a feat.

I’ll leave you with a few pieces of knowledge I learned. Fresh mushrooms are considered a vegetable and are legal, dried ones are a drug and illegal. Smoking tobacco inside will get you a big fine and a boot out the door, smoking cannabis is fine except in a cafe. Lastly, cameras can’t take pictures if you take the memory card out and leave it in your computer.

Well, it seems that most people think of three things when they visit Brussels: good beer, good chocolate, and a small (apparently infatuating) statue of a pissing boy. Before I wax and wane about beer I would like to say two things about children…the first is that a 7 hour plane ride with a crying child in front of you is still one of the best forms of birth control. Secondly, I had no desire to see a small pissing boy statue, but happened to wander into the small alcove into which he has been proudly pissing and chuckling for centuries. If any of you have seen this statue feel free to say otherwise, but that is the most ripped statue of a child I have ever seen. Did this child bully the whole town into making him a statue of himself peeing? If that is the case, I doubly approve of it being built.

Alas, to the much more important topic: Trappist Beer! Trappist monks have been creating beer for centuries to help support their life. This day and age there are rules about such practices; only seven breweries are allowed to carry the near-sacred seal of approval of the highly regulated trappist branding. The beers are delicious, complex, and to me hard to describe in words. Only six of these breweries export their delicacies outside of Belgium. Westvleteren stands alone in a capitalist market. They produce only enough beer to provide for themselves… no profits and no supply and demand curves. Maybe it’s the slight amount of romanticism involved, or maybe its the fact it is nigh-unattainable but all of their four brews left me speechless. I will save the descriptions of malt and hops for the experts and just enjoy this fine beer, but simply put I think the blond (the lightest of the Westvleteren brews) is the best. I found it a perfect end to the first day of my travels watching the choreographed light and music show on the Grand Palace while sipping a most rare delicacy.