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Quy Nhon
Liz has traveled all over the world for my job, so the least I could do was join her for her firm retreat at a five-star resort in Quy Nhon, on the Vietnamese coast. If nothing else, I am a supportive husband.
Quy Nhon is located about 250 miles north of HCMC, requiring us to fly all the way down to HCMC to catch a puddle jumper back north. The resort is about one hour south of the airport, the former U.S. air base at Phu Cat, nestled in a small bay, immediately off the main north-south highway. We passed signs on the way to the resort saying HCMC 400 km and on the way back saying Hanoi 1000 km.
I had a great time as a trailing spouse, meeting Liz’s work colleagues. Mostly Vietnamese attorneys, with a few Americans, Singaporeans, and Koreans. While they had their meetings, I relaxed at the beach. The water was a beautiful and clear blue, which blended in with the tree-clad mountains that rose up almost from the shore to their cloud-shrouded peaks. Squid traps bobbed in the water during the day and provided bright lights in the evenings as they lured the squid upwards. I also spied some fishermen taking a more direct approach, jumping into the water at night with flashlights. Not sure what they were targeting, but it was very strange watching the lights pan around underwater.
While Liz was conference bound, I booked a taxi to visit some Cham temples in the region. Vestiges of the kingdom of Champa, which flourished in the 9th and 10th centuries, several temples remain standing in town and on isolated hills like eerie beacons, clearly visible on the flight in. Though the government has started some restoration work, related infrastructure is thin, typically a chain-linked fence and a sleeping (at noon) watchman. At one site, a museum is under construction, yet nothing to date to guide a lone visitor. I wandered around the sites, looking at the remarkable construction. I passed a corrugated shack in which a few restoration workers had gathered for lunch. They waved me in and I saw an opportunity to practice my Vietnamese. They saw an opportunity to get a foreigner drunk, passing me a shot glass full of the local rotgut. I managed to escape having downed only two shots (plus some tea). Very hospitable, if not very knowledgeable about the Cham Empire.
Lang Son
As many of you know, Vietnam has been at the epicenter of the avian influenza outbreak. Don’t panic Mom N. – we’re fine. However, over the years Vietnam has suffered from hundreds of poultry outbreaks and over 50 deaths. Vietnam’s response has been largely effective, with a strong domestic program designed to prevent animal outbreaks and human infections. Nevertheless, outbreaks continue to pop up, some of them (apparently) due to chickens smuggled in from China. At first, it sounds funny: a bunch of poor villagers running across the border with a bunch of chickens under each arm. But, then its not: several birds captured by customs and animal health have tested positive for AI. I traveled to Lang Son, along the Chinese border to investigate.
Lang Son is about 150 kilometers north of Hanoi. The road is good, though single lane, so we made good (though heart-wrenching) time weaving around buses, trucks, and scooters. North of Hanoi is good rice farming land and the early spring rice stalks shone a vivid green as we drove past, with farmers wading between the rows to weed and fertilize. Though it was cloudy and misty, we could vaguely make up the hills as they began to rise in the distance.
The mountains really begin at the 100 kilometer mark, with sharply cut limestone cliffs looming a thousand plus feet overhead on the left, while more rounded hills stretched to the right. The road began to wind as traffic decreased slightly. With less arable land, the peasants terraced their rice crops, while growing other vegetables on non-level land. Water buffalos grazed placidly.
Lang Son itself is fairly non-descript, I guess about 100,000 people in a growing town, nestled up against some low, but steep, hills. The higher latitude and altitude cooled the air, which remained in the low sixties in early April, compared to Hanoi, which already has begun to warm up. Though surrounded by natural beauty and close to several minority tribe villages, tourism has been slow to develop. We stayed at one of the nicest hotels in town – the two-star Van Xuan. Bed was clean, but hot water cut off after 90 seconds and I could hear everything (Everything!) from neighboring rooms and floors.
Before and after meeting with local officials, we visited some local dining establishments to try the local specialties: roast duck, sautéed greens, and pickled bamboo shoots w/peppers. Not bad, but not a special find. It seems like many of locals like a little liquor with their meal. Fine. A glass of wine or a mug of beer usually sounds nice. Not what they had in mind. Most restaurants contain a rack of shelves on which sit a variety of large glass jugs containing lizards, bees, cocoons, and other assorted insects and reptiles pickled in local white lighting, supposedly for their medicinal purposes. Decaying animal parts in unfiltered booze. It was culture clash. I did try one shot of the local brew, minus the animal parts. Like a cross between vermouth and tequila and about as easy going down. We also tried a place that served ga doi (“hill chicken”), which means free range chicken. We chose the place by the number of motorbikes parked in front. It seemed quite popular, so why not? Upstairs, we found one party of local men happily in their cups apparently debating ancient Vietnamese royal lineages (as explained by my assistant, my Vietnamese skills are not up to tackling inebriated, local dialects). Across the room was a group of local women. Also imbibing, but less enthusiastically, and encouraging their friends to eat more.
I walked around the city early in the morning and in the evening. With few tourists, people were a bit surprised to see me, but more in the “hey, look at that, a Westerner, we don’t get many of those in these parts” way than the goggle-eyed shock you can get when you travel in the back of beyond. Anyway, they got a kick out of it when I responded to their greetings in Vietnamese or asked the costs of things in the market. Close to the Chinese border, the night market was packed with Chinese products (legitimate and not-so-legitimate). I was offered an IPod mini for about $25 and turned it down. What do you think, good move?
