Haiphong Market, near bus Terminal

Views and faces of Haiphong

Finally, Haiphong

After separating for the evening, Mickey (“like Mickey Mouse!” he kept saying when making introductions) and Siu (Anglicized in Sylvia) were beckoning me from a sidewalk restaurant table. In Vietnam prevalently, but I have seen some in Cambodia too, these are kindergarten size: little plastic stools, chairs and tables, not very comfortable to sit at. But the company was good and the food, rice noodles soup, not bad. We made our way back to the hotel separately, and the next day we left together as we had planned to go to the bus station and board a bus for Nihn Bihn, where we would be able to board the fabled unification express, the train line that runs the almost 2000 km from Hanoi to Saigon, which is the name people still use for the former capital of South Vietnam in common parlance. The panorama suggested that poverty is everywhere in North Vietnam and tending to misery, no pretense of pride or face saving to keep people from showing it. They also seem to have worse habits, though this is just speculative on my part: the misery I have seen both in the cities and the courtyside, I reckon, according to my perception of reality, can come from unchecked abuse of drugs and alcohol, written on many people’s faces as well as the crippling of war, 30 odd years of uneasy “peace” aren’t enough to undo the societal damages to the collective unconscious of generations-length invasions, aerial bombardments and pitch battles. The generalized lack of personal care and garb seemed much beyond what limited means would excuse: in the North (though I did not see Hanoi), I noticed a general lack of personal care, as if war and its survivalist imperatives were still the ruling esthetics. In spite of visiting at the time when everybody wants to show their best face and with some notable exceptions going in the opposite direction, stridently and unrealistically challenging the general shabbiness.

Travelling companions on the minibus to/from hell

The Pictorial Truth about the Halong Bay Coastline

On the way to Halong Bay

After changing some money (I said when it comes to that, follow the Italian: I had quickly found a complacent shopkeeper who gave us excellent rates, and the whole loose group we were herding with from the border, followed suit) and buying some biscuits (I got mine as a present from the grateful shopkeeper), we boarded a minibus on a very tentative road, a mud trail most of the time, along Halong Bay, which did not seem anything like the closing scenes of "007: Tomorrow Never Dies". Once we got there (after a 5 hours trip) it was clear that the unchecked development has spoiled it beyond possible recuperation. Of course, I did not manage to see it from the sea, as I had planned (most of the reason to go down that way, in fact): the Hydrofoil, that would take a couple of hours, wasn't working, because the New Year Celebration went on in Vietnam, for another 10 days or so, as far as the consequences on travel went. Hence the 5 hours ride from hell, with the most conniving minibus driver/cashier team I have ever encountered: they kept cramming people (I counted 45, in a vehicle with 20 seats), litterally putting them on top of each other. Finally I stood up and when the evil “man in charge” slapped my hand I slapped his back, cursing at him in Italian. Surprisingly, his demeanor changed and he stopped being high handed. And at the end of the trip, my bag was returned unscathed: for the entire trip I had no sight of the place where it was putatively stored, I feared that could be a trump card in the confrontation, but there were no consequences. Then onto a gipsy cab for another stretch, with more high jinxes, but a happy ending: after many attempts we convinced the driver to let me use his cell phone to call hotels. He did not bring us to the hotel we had called, but the Haiphong Vietnam Navy House, is clean and proper, for $ 16; it is no 3 and 4 Chinese stars hotels, the difference is noticeable, but acceptable. I also finally managed to find a battery charger and rechargeable AA batteries, that should be the end of my camera power misery. My new Chinese friends told me the $ 10 I paid is about double what it costs in China (that is indeed where the equipment is made), but I retorted that they were nowehere to be found there. It's still cold here, on to Da Nang, where warm weather is supposed to be lurking. It turns out it is much easier to travel in China than North Vietnam: people are more welcoming there, while the rate of English speakers (or other languages for that matter) is about the same. I managed a conversation in Russian, as inexistant as mine is, with a man who lived there for 8 years and kept translating to his adorable little girl and the rest of the family I was relentlessly photographing on the mini-bus to/from hell. With notable exceptions, people seem coarse and greedy, generally speaking, if compared with the meek and accomodating Chinese. And in fairness, the human landscaped improved the further South in Vietnam I went: in Nha Trang I felt I was dealing with Neapolitans.

Into North Vietnam

A young couple offered me a ride on their open taxi at the China-Vietnam border and we started conversing in approximate English, then travelling together, they are snow birds like me and could not wait to get to hot weather. It was strange to see them at a loss for words once we crossed into Vietnam: they were as helpless as I was in China, in fact more so because their English is minimal.

The Border and Beyond

On the Freeway Nanning-Vietnam