To take or not to take the bus from hell?
I had two options: either I’d take the 30-hr ‘bus from hell’ from Luang Prabang to Hanoi or take a one-hour flight and pay thrice the fare. I chose the latter. If there was one thing I learned from over two years of traveling, that was to not punish yourself when you had the money… so long as expenses were reasonable.
Vietnam was the seventh and the last destination before flying back home for Christmas. To be frank, I wasn’t really looking forward to it–just the thought of it stressed me out. I’d always hear negative feedback from people who traveled to the country; they would often highlight how locals could be rude, how locals were such scammers, how hard it was to communicate with them. And so I was delighted to bump into Mei at the immigration, at least I had someone to be confused with. It took us quite some time to reach our hostels located in the Old Quarter.
This was how Old Quarter welcomed us
Winter in Hanoi
People would often comment how I looked more like a Vietnamese than a Filipino. Maybe yes, maybe no. I thought I actually looked like anyone from anywhere in Southeast Asia, so it had been way easier for me to travel around unlike the poor Westerners. But then my hippie pants and English would always blow my cover. In Hanoi, though, it was wearing shorts in winter that gave me away. The five-dollar fleece jacket that I got for my hikes in Indonesia, and the gradual drop of temperature from Chiang Mai to Luang Prabang helped me not to freeze to death.
Coming from N. Thailand and N. Laos, Hanoi was a bit too much for me. The mere sight of motorbikes and crowd was just overwhelming–it was as if I was back in Indonesia, this time, alone and travel-weary. Motorbikes were everywhere and it was no joke that I had to do a 360-degree turn when crossing the streets.
It didn’t even take 24 hours and I was already looking for another hostel to move in to. The place where I initially stayed at just looked and smelled miserable, and it didn’t help that I was sharing a room with a guy who seemed mad enough to kill me in my sleep. I thought of Hanoi Backpackers but then opted for the capsule hostel beside it as I couldn’t get myself into sharing a room with 15 other people. It was unfortunate that I was having an episode of social anxiety at the time I wasn’t supposed to, so much so that I kept on changing hostels and eventually checked in a proper hotel just to be alone. That or I was already sick of forced interactions after weeks of traveling.
An alley along the many alleys
My days would be spent locking myself in the room, browsing the internet, posting random Facebook status, and pretending to read a book in the common area. I’d go out from time to time with my head bowed down to my GPS, wary of getting lost. I’d converse with other travelers but would lose interest after the where-are-you-froms, where-have-you-beens, and blah blah. I’d bother my friends who asked me to just book a flight home as there was no point in traveling anymore. I’d do stupid and reckless things. And for the first time in ten months since we had parted ways, I called the person who was supposed to be with me just to let him know how miserable I was. And I really was.
Moving on to Hoi An
The initial plan was to move up to Sapa, but since I had no winter clothes, I decided against it and just booked a trip to Halong Bay. It quickly became apparent to be as unwise–it was just too darn cold and windy, and to make things worse, I was the lone solo traveler in the group. I stayed back to read a book while they kayaked in the freezing water.
Who visits Halong Bay in winter? Stupid me.
Huyen, whom I met through Couchsurfing back in 2013, was nice enough to offer her company as I made my way to Central Vietnam. This was on top of her driving me around Hanoi at night. Although aware of how ineffective of a host I was, thinking back, I wish I could’ve done more when I hosted her in PH.
I spent my last night in Hanoi over Huyen’s place and took an early flight to Danang the next day. I was quite excited about Hoi An as I heard that it was one of the places that I couldn’t miss in Vietnam. I liked the thought that people likened it to Penang (and Huyen said it was even better)… it meant that I’d get a break from the city. I guess confined areas make me feel secure.
We were looking forward to a warmer weather, too, so imagine the disappointment when we landed and it was raining cats and dogs. Drenched and cold, we slept away the morning and woke up in the afternoon to walk around. The weather wasn’t any better, though. I thought I’d be fine with it, considering how meager my clothing was in cold Hanoi, but the non-stop rain and wind were such bitches.
Gloomy Hoi An
Hoi An was painfully romantic and I couldn’t imagine how things would’ve been if I were alone. It was like Penang with a hint of Luang Prabang’s vibe at night. The locals were friendly and more approachable compared to those from the North. Restaurants and food stalls lined up the streets. There were French colonial buildings, Chinese temples and shops, and even a Japanese pagoda. And the lanterns, lit up at night, were beautiful. Almost romance, wrong time.
A lantern stall in Hoi An
The streets of Hoi An reminded me of Penang’s
But it was imperative to leave Hoi An. After an encounter with the most annoying drunk traveler and an exchange of hugs with Huyen, I flew out of Danang a couple of days later.
Final Days in Ho Chi Minh
I went straight to the backpackers’ area in District 1 and checked in one of the first hostels that found me. Plans of locking myself in a hotel to get rid of people cropped up, but then I resorted to Couchsurfing when another Huyen responded to my open request.
My host in HCMC :)
Ho Chi Minh was nothing how I imagined it. It was relatively organized, less chaotic for a city, and quite neat. I thought they had the hippiest youth in SE Asia, too. My host was in District 10, but I’d spend most of my time wandering in Districts 1 and 3. In an attempt to do more while on a state of paralysis, I booked a tour to Cu Chi Tunnels and visited the War Remnants Museum–the former was fascinating; the latter was distressful.
Down the tunnels
The exhibit was too much to take
Ho Chi Minh had the awesomest cafe scene
Aside from sitting for hours in coffee shops, I had nothing else to do. I’d think of meeting up with strangers, but neither their schedules nor their ‘agendas’ matched with mine. And then there was Dave whom I met in Hoi An. Incidentally, we were also on the same flight to HCMC and on our first night in the city, grabbed a beer and dinner. I must’ve told him something about hanging out again should the stars collide or something stupid like that, and so they did the day before he left for Thailand. We thought we’d meet up in Ben Thanh Market as I was around the area.
It was easy to spot Dave, of course he was that tall white dude sporting a handlebar mustache in a Vietnam flag camis. He was shopping for gifts for his parents and brother; I was told that people appreciate those things. He’d awkwardly pose for a photo with a local shortly.
The End of Small Talk
I was with a friend the first time I met Dave. There we were again, talking where we had been and where we would be, and a bit about the books that he was simultaneously reading. We’d chat about how admirable the Vietnamese women were and how overwhelming the War Museum could be. I appreciated his effort of trying to keep the conversation rolling, but if anything, there was nothing but a spark of disinterest. Were we too desperate for company that we consciously put up with such insipid bond? The last time that we met was the first time that we actually got to wander aimlessly.
It was already late in the afternoon when our feet brought us to HCMC Square. I led him to one of the old buildings I stumbled upon one lazy day when I was literally going in circles around the area. The café was on the seventh floor. The elevator was busted. I’d then find myself ridiculously quizzing him on country codes as we were taking the stairs up. I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about, I guess.
We were back at discussing trivialities. Back at pretending that we were interested at what the other had to say. I bitched about this and that, and then internally regretted coming across too strong.
As we watched the sun set atop a dilapidated building along Nguyen Hue, I finally asked how his life was at 25. He paused and thought how “weird” my question was. I offered him a beer… and then we watched Star Wars.
My last sunset in Vietnam
Epilogue
I spent my last day with Mei at Buihaus. She just arrived in HCMC and just had to rant how she hated Hanoi… Hoi An… basically, how much she hated Vietnam. “I’ll never come back here again,” thus she said. I literally locked myself up and didn’t get to actually be there and interact with people, so I found it hard to empathize with her. I’d then tell people that my time in Vietnam was OK, that the internet connection was surprisingly fast, that HCMC was neat, that motorbikes were everywhere, and that they could book a nice hostel for 5 USD. There was nothing beyond those; I’d shut up after about a minute of talking about it even though it was the country I spent most of my time in–I literally covered it from North to South.
Thank you for the treat, Mei :)
I’d like to think that I was just fed up, but no… it was the fact that I felt so alone and I didn’t connect well with people. I had no one; I wasn’t happy; and it took me over two years to admit that and write about it.
“So often in my life I’ve been with people and shared beautiful moments like travelling or staying up all night and watching the sunrise, and I knew it was a special moment, but something was always wrong. I wished I’d been with someone else. I knew that what I was feeling – exactly what was so important to me – they didn’t understand.” – Celine, Before Sunrise
Walk Your Own Walk 