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Hello Vietnam
Entry 14 of 29 | show all | print this entry |
Without a ticket for the one daily bus between Nanning and Hanoi, I had to do this border crossing between China and Vietnam the hard way--but it was also the cheaper way. That meant, first of all, a three hour train from Nanning to Pingxiang--cost about 2 dollars. The train was the worst I've been on yet, but it looked how you expect a train in a developing country to look. Table fans nailed to the ceiling, open windows with dirty curtains fluttering, vinyl covered pressboard seats at uncomfortable ninety degree angles, the floor scattered which lychee pits. Again, I seemed to be the only foreigner and about halfway through a student came up to me to talk. He said I was the first foreigner he had ever spoken to.
Pingxiang is a prototypical border town, dusty and hot. As soon as I got off the train there were drivers ready to take passengers to the ironically named Friendship Gate about 20 KM away. The vehicles were kind of like a conastoga wagon attached to the front of a motorcycle with nothing holding you in. Kind of like a tuk-tuk, only tuk tuks have seats, these only have two boards facing each. Two New Zealanders (evidently I was not the only westerner on the train) hopped in. Turns out they lived in Hanoi, so I decided to tag along with them to make the border crossing easier. We were dropped off in a parking lot and its about a kilometer walk to the actual border, with shady money changers along the way (the Vietnamese Dong is made out of plastic, which is kind of weird. On the other hand, it's useful because you sweat so much. I managed to sweat through my day bag and ruin most of my travel information already) and I changed over my RMBs, not really caring about the rate too much because they're worthless outside of China. No order at the Vietnamese crossing, just a mass of people throwing passports and immigration forms at two hassled guards. I did the same and eventually it got passed back to me stamped--I don't think they ever even saw my face. Then quarantine, where you pay a 2000 dong bribe and no questions are asked. Meanwhile, the New Zealanders were getting their souvenirs comfiscated by customs, and then having to pay a bribe to get the souvenirs back.
Next it got tricky. First, a taxi to the nearest town, Lang Son, another 20 km. We found a minibus to Hanoi, paid for the trip, and then went into town to eat. The food was quite good, although it takes a bit to get used to the surroundings--not exactly western standards of cleanliness. The people were extremely friendly. When we got back to the bus it had been mostly loaded with people. The three of us made 16 people crammed into a minibus that probably should hold no more than twelve. There were four people across the front seat, one woman sitting on the drivers headrest that had been placed on the floor. Four large Brits in the back looked pasty and hot. Then we drove around town looking for more people. 17. . .18. . . .19. . . . and finally 20. The Brits in the back were in an uproar by 17 and when the woman in charged asked them to squash together, they shouted "No room. There are three seats back here"
Woman. "Four seat"
"Three"
Woman "Four"
She then proceded to the back of the bus and plopped down between them.
"See," she said with a big grin, "Four"
One of the New Zealanders informed me that the Vietnamese are not good travelers and that they tend to get car sick easily. This may have something to do with the overcrowded buses and drivers that seem to take lanes to be mere suggestions. As this was being explained to me, an old woman in the front promtly threw up into a plastic bag. Luckily, there aren't many qualms about littering and out the window it went. On the bright side, the air conditioner was blasting and the countryside is quite beautiful.
All of this hellish traveling, however, is worth it. Hanoi is amazing, and it takes no time to get a feel for the city. I'm in the Old Quarter--the streets are narrow with huge trees lining them giving the city a feel as though it was built underneath a jungle canopy. Kind of a weird combination of China, the Latin Quarter in Paris, and a rain forest. Each street used to be devoted to one type of shop--Silk Street, Pickled Fish Street, etc. Most of this system has broken down, but some of the streets still hold to there guild identity. Paper street for instance, is a street entirely selling paper products, mostly lanterns and other decorative items. Food is everywhere, and its good everywhere. Last night I had the Vietnamese version of Steak frites, which came with a cucumber salad, a huge baguette, and a liter of beer for less than 2 dollars. This morning, I got some Pho from one of the many stove and stool stands on the streets--lots of outdoor eating in Hanoi, but most of it on furniture that would furnish a kindergarten in the US. And for the first time I understood why the Vietnamese eat piping hot soup when its 100 degrees out. The effect of eating soup in those conditions (I could hardly see so much sweat was in my eyes) is really refreshing when you get up. It's like going in a sauna.
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