Wish We Were Here: Vietnam
I recently learned that Vietnam made a very good job of the pandemic. I was unsurprised. Of the four countries in South-East Asia I visited in between leaving school and starting university (all members of the veritable ‘Gap Yah’ circuit), Vietnam was the most demanding of information about where I was going and when. As I prepared to enter Laos at the end of my three-week stay, a border-guard impolitely informed me that the exit I had designated on my visa was three hundred miles southward. My bus left me unceremoniously dumped at Border Crossing 113, and I had to cry over the phone to a Hanoi official in apology for my administrative error.
Vietnam may have borrowed some techniques from its mighty northern neighbour, but once you get into this country your heart opens to it and you’ll forgive just about anything short of the one-party state. Vietnam is a land of breath-taking beauty and futuristic modernity, set between sunlit rice-paddies, flip-flopped squatting old ladies preparing sugarcane on the street, mopeds tiding past neon shadows in Ho Chi Minh City; and other flickers of the day-to-day which few countries can claim to capture at once. Vietnam achieves this, and the tourist is left struggling to take in the diversity of it all on one holiday alone.
Vietnam has risen phoenix-like from tragedy and is now one of Asia’s leaping Tigers. Futuristic cities such as Da Nang and Ho Chi Minh – formerly Saigon – testify to this. But the Japanese Bridge in little ol’ Hoi An, incensed Buddhist temples nestled off busy highways, and French-colonial railway stations remind the visitor of a rich historical tapestry sewn together by commerce and empire.
British money will go a long way here – be prepared to haggle for short rides across the city, and for astonishingly cheap street food (banh mi sandwiches can cost as little as twenty pence). The transport infrastructure is superb, allowing you to have it all – river-boating in the Yukon Delta, misty mountain passages in Da Lat, and a bubble tea and hearty broth of pho noodles in Hanoi; all in the time it takes to say, “Good morning Vietnam!”. But don’t say that, especially with an American accent.
Things to do:
Suit up in Hội An
Visitors to Vietnam have a lot to pick from but must not miss the beautiful coastal village of Hội An. Professional tailors have lined the ancient streets of this port for centuries, offering their wares and expertise for a fraction of the price of Savile Row. Once you’re suited, waltz beneath Chinese lanterns in the evening to enjoy a river-side meal in the old town. The thought of those little artisan shops selling fresh coffee and oil paintings… it’s enough to make my heartache right now.
Homestay in Sapa
Sapa lies in the mountainous northern regions where the French had their fatal last stand. In recent years, local farmers have been able to earn a generous side-hustle from homestays: they’ll pick you up from the bus-stop and walk you up the mountains to their homes in the valleys. Experiences may vary, but there is no better opportunity to experience life in rural Vietnam – and hosts are generous with their fresh food and homemade vodka. Spend three nights gazing at the stars from your hammock, and three days with your stick in hand, traipsing the terraced fields of rice-paddy. As long as you keep your mosquito net sewed tight and your phone turned off, you’re in paradise.
Pilgrimage to the cathedral at Phát Diệm
Please take this road less travelled before you go. English author Graham Greene visited the cathedral of Phát Diệm – a village 100km south of Hanoi – in the 1950s, featuring it in his novel The Quiet American. When you get there, compare the imposing colonial architecture of the city churches to this elegant pagoda of oriental Christianity, “more Buddhist than Christian” in Greene’s words. The tiled roofing licks upward like a dragon’s tongue; Jesus Christ stands in a pond, as still as the potted bonsai lining the inner sanctum. If you climb atop the central belltower you can almost imagine lines of French paratroopers descending at the crop of the horizon. Thankfully, the only sound you’ll be lucky enough to hear is the chanting of Mass.
