Hello Vietnam
by TylerAccording to my GPS, we've arrived at the road leading to Vietnam: it is a dusty red track with no signage whatsoever. Feeling dubious about this intersection leading to an international border, we ask a nearby food seller for directions. I'm expecting he'll point us further down the road, or maybe back the way we've come.
Instead, he smiles and points at the desolate, rutted path we were considering moments ago.
Cambodian Woman on Motorbike
Alright then, off we go!
Some Pig
Down the red dirt road, villages become sparser, as does the landscape. We're still feeling a little doubtful, but when we ask a few more people about the way to Vietnam, they all assure us we're headed the right direction.
Tara's Feet & Dry Earth
At the edge of our last Cambodian town, we take a break to capture this brightly-colored wedding tent. It is rare that we've passed a village of any size without seeing one (or two or three) of these, clashing in the countryside with their garish hot pinks, fluorescent yellows, and neon greens.
Cambodian Wedding Tent
With this final iconic image of Cambodia collected, we're almost ready to say goodbye. But first, I want to record the ominous music emanating from within. I only manage to get a minute or two down before we are accosted by a strange, intellectually impaired man.
We do our best to engage him, but it proves useless; the language barrier and his handicap prevent any meaningful communication. By the time our confusing, one-sided conversation is through, the music is no longer playing.
As we wend our way towards the border, as if on cue, things begin to change. The most notable difference is a marked increase in the number of pointy rice hats! We had only seen a handful of these in Cambodia, but now, before we've even reached the border, almost every woman who isn't on a scooter is wearing one.
Vietnamese Biker
Crossing a patrol booth into the Cambodian border area, a guard casually waves us around a fence, over towards some brick buildings. We stop at the first one, and park our bikes in the shade. A man in dark green uniform sits at his desk behind a window, and waits as a woman carries over a delicious-looking bowl of rice noodles with spring rolls on top. We're tempted to ask where the food came from, and could we get some?
But instead we slide our passports over for inspection, crossing our fingers that they won't care about the fact that we've overstayed by two days. Thankfully, their regulations haven't changed since the last printing of our guidebook; we simply pay twenty dollars ($5 per person per day). With that loose end tied, we are politely stamped out of the country.
Goodbye Cambodia, we will miss you!
Heavily Loaded Motorbike Approaching Border
On the Vietnamese side, the road continues under a red archway, officially welcoming us to our first communist country ever! (apart from our connecting flight through China, anyway). As we pedal through the arches, we are flanked on either side by heavily loaded scooters with massive baskets that easily dwarf our big Ortlieb panniers.
Entering Vietnam
At the customs office, while we wait for passports to be inspected, we learn how to say "hello" and "thank you" from one of the guards. He has an exceptionally long bundle of wiry black hairs sprouting forth from a mole on his neck. I believe this is meant to be good luck? However auspicious it may be, I have a strong urge to pluck them out, and it very difficult not to stare!
A few minutes later, a familiar and resounding *ker-chuNK* signals our entrance into a new country, as both passports are stamped and returned. As we stroll out of the border control building with that unmistakable new-country-skip-in-our-step, grinning ear to ear, we are practicing our high-pitched, singsong greeting: sin jOw (hello) and a bassy Vietnamese thank you: gam uHrnn.
The small changes which began even before the border are now in full swing. There are scooters everywhere, and here, their drivers actually wear helmets (though they are little more than glorified baseball caps). With shops selling the not-so-protective headgear on every corner, the Vietnamese seem much more keen on rider safety than Cambodians. Perhaps local law requires these helmets?
Pedaling now amidst a flurry of traffic, gone are the quiet country lanes of Cambodia. Soon, we are passing actual stores, taking the place of muddy markets and palm huts doubling (or tripling) as homes, cafes, and shops. Vietnam is obviously a much wealthier country.
The children here are better dressed (heck, they are dressed), and there are things like clothing stores and jewelry shops as well. It all seems downright decadent. Suddenly, I feel homesick for the peaceful roads of Cambodia, and the warmth of its people's smiles.
At first blush, the Vietnamese seem downright cold by comparison! I know I shouldn't expect everyone we pass to stop what they are doing to wave and welcome us like we're royalty, but that has more or less been our life for the last month. It feels strange to ride through civilization without it.
Then again, when we left Russia, the smiles of Mongolia were initially shocking to us, so I'm sure we'll come around.
We're stopped for a moment, navigating towards our first Vietnamese town: Hà Tiên, when a man on a motorbike appears. He's in our face, brusquely telling us more than asking us if we want to change money, that we need a hotel, that we want to buy a tour package.
A stream of persistent but polite "no thank you"s finally manages to send him packing. Before the first guy is out of sight, another man on a scooter pulls up in much the same manner, this time, wanting to know where we're headed. Feeling exasperated, we divulge the hotel we're looking for, and the man tells us to follow him.
We agree reluctantly, and lo and behold, he drops us right off at the hotel we were trying to find. He doesn't want anything in return; he just smiles and waves goodbye as he heads towards the market.
Now, we're settled in a nice clean place for thirteen dollars a night with air conditioning and a very fast internet connection. We've had showers and changed clothes, and now it's time for dinner. As always when we enter a new country, we have no idea how to answer the question, "so, what's for dinner?", so we leave our hotel to explore the options.
We steer clear of the barbecued gosling(?) for now…
Grilled Duckling?
…and settle on a place that serves phở. After trying about five different pronunciations, (fo? phOh? fuu? feh? fuh? fUh?, yes fUh!!) I finally manage to be understood, and soon receive a steaming minty bowl of noodle and chicken soup. It definitely does not rate high on my list of tasty flavors. Something about it reminds me of Christmas in a not-so-pleasant way.
Tara winds up with a delicious place of rice and barbecued meat, which I covet and steal several bites from.
Tara Sipping Pineapple Shake, Learning Vietnamese
On our way back to the hotel, we receive our first broad smile, as a mother and her children stop to ogle the strange white people in their small town.
Vietnamese Family on a Bike
At the moment, I am missing Cambodia. Vietnam is loud and in-your-face by comparison, and if today is any indication, communication here is going to be very difficult.