Nha Trang: Happy Endings Massage Parlours

Backed by highly valued tourist dollars and anonymous in their travels, a number of otherwise well adjusted backpackers relax their moral compasses, gird their loins, and indulge themselves in less than savoury activities. To fill the demand, "Happy Endings" establishments pop up at the big tourist hot spots, dropping the bar for everyone else. Beach towns in particular are the hardest hit, and Nha Trang is no exception to the rule.

One thing I've noticed about seaside towns in this region is, the closer one gets to the beach, the more Happy Endings Massage Parlours they will see. The streets running parallel to Nha Trang's main beach are good examples as the businesses nearest the ocean tend to be more party oriented and the ones farther away are more practically minded. Let's say you look anywhere farther than three blocks from the sand and surf, you will only find supermarkets, restaurants, pharmacies and doctors. Two blocks (where our guesthouse is) and closer, one is more likely to find Sleazy bars, Karaoke joints (read: brothels) and Happy Endings Massage Parlours. Maybe this chart would better illustrate this theory:

...or maybe not...

Anyway, your average Happy Endings Massage Parlour is fairly easy to pick out and it doesn't take a genius to distinguish one from a legitimate massage parlour. Telltale signs include:

1. Dark tinted front windows
2. Loud hip hop music coming from inside
   
3. Red entrance lights (only visible at night)
4. Emaciated (and possibly underage) girl in a tube top/miniskirt ensemble standing near the front door
5. Largely male clientèle.
   

It's not rocket science.

Regardless, a temporary lapse of judgment ensued this afternoon following a bowl of pho and a round of fruit shakes. It must have been the daytime heat or maybe I was lost in conversation at the time but something distracted me as I stumbled across a reflexology sign carefully placed in the middle of the sidewalk. I turned toward the girl at the door (telltale sign #4) and asked how much an hour costs, ignoring the loud Eminem track blaring (telltale sign #2) from behind the tinted windows (telltale sign #1) and the unkempt men milling in and out of the entranceway (telltale sign #5). I think it was when she looked over at Jo and rolled her eyes that I finally put two and two together and backed down. My face is still red.

Oh, and for the curious among you, a "massage" (and complimentary rash) will set you back about 125,000 VND (about $8 USD).

Nha Trang: Ba Ho Falls and Doc Let Beach

If ever a day existed where the journey eclipsed the destination, today would be it. We began it like many other, that is to say, we woke up late and took our time with breakfast. Even then, we had enough time left in the morning to rent a pair of motorbikes (this time with enough gas in the tanks and a local girl volunteered to lead us to a service station). And so our road trip began.

We revved up our Chinese made motos and sped through the remainder of Nha Trang, promising ourselves that we'd stop at all the interesting sights on the way back (through past experience, this never happens - today was no different) and up a winding hilly slope by the city's border. Most of the hillside real estate on the northern edge of town is taken up by colourful mini mausoleums. I've been told that like the Chinese, grave placement is important to the Vietnamese. A hillside location is apparently most auspicious.

Further down Highway 1 (about 20 clicks), we ran into a little difficulty. The turn off to the Ba Ho falls, we found out, doesn't have any signage. Luckily, the guidebook mentions an intersection by the Quyen restaurant. Too bad on a highway littered with little roadside restaurants, it's not difficult at all to overlook one that's a landmark, especially when it's a dirty old shack. After going back and forth a couple of times (with a quick stop for some overpriced pho), we found our way onto a rural dirt road, across a railway track (where the "Reunification Express" runs) and through a little village.

The initial reaction at the entrance was one of disappointment as it consisted of a trash strewn picnic area aside an equally trash strewn stream and little else. After paying for admission and parking, a group of Vietnamese women gathered around us to sell us heavily marked up soft drinks. I eventually caved and bought a bottle of Thai imported Red Bull on the way out.

Somehow, I'd forgotten that near-death experiences come part in parcel with my visits to waterfalls. I think there were at least a half dozen in the twenty minute climb up and another half dozen on the way down. Certain stretches were sheer cliff faces overlooking gaping crevasses between boulders. The small iron bars haphazardly placed on the cliff faces weren't made for over sized feet in over sized sandals so the climb was that much worse for me.

Further disappointment greeted us at the top as, despite the rainy season, the falls didn't offer much more than a trickle. Anyway, the exercise was good and none of us came out injured so things worked out in the end.

Sweaty from the climb, we hopped back on our bikes and continued north to the Doc Let beach for a little rest and relaxation.

Along the way, we stopped by a group of farmers who were more than willing subjects for our photographs. Surprisingly none asked for "wan dollah," which seems to be customary in these parts.

The scenery on the way to Doc Let:



Another letdown greeted us at Doc Let as a number of exclusive resorts have taken over the beach and posted guard huts at the entrances. It was probably for the best anyway as it was getting late in the afternoon and we needed to get back to town before nightfall.

On the way back, Andrew, who was driving ahead of me, slowed down to say hello to a group of bicycling school children. So shocked were they of the strange foreigner, a couple steered directly in my path. Neither were hurt in the collision but I seared my leg on the hot exhaust pipe in the process.

We made it back to town just in time to catch the sunset



Because I have nowhere else to post this, here's a photo of a napping cyclo driver taken earlier this morning:

Nha Trang: Mining for Earwax (For Fun and/or Profit)

Today's planned outing was written off about five minutes after renting a pair of motorbikes. For some reason, the rental agency had decided to drain the gas tanks almost entirely before handing over the keys - there wasn't enough juice to get to the gas station so we had to push our bikes all the way back. After a drawn out argument with the management (we're getting used to doing it here), we managed to get a refund and took to the streets of Nha Trang on foot.

For the most part, I've paid little attention to the barber stands that proliferate the urban side roads here. Essentially they consist of a chair, a mirror and a small tray of tools set up on the sidewalk. Well, it was a rare treat today that I caught my first glimpse of the "after service." What happens is, once the haircut is done, buddy here straps a flashlight to his head, pulls out a fancy Q-tip like thing (it's more like a mini feather duster), and goes to town on his customer's ear canal. Now, considering Vietnamese motorists (who travel only a few feet away) tend to sound their horns at just about everything they pass, one has to wonder what kind of masochist pays for this type of service:

In a country where restaurants commonly recycle drinking straws by soaking them in dirty old dishwater (something I accidentally stumbled upon when I passed through a kitchen), I'll bet good money that these fancy "Q-tips" undergo a similar treatment.

Travel Day: Nha Trang - Unemployment

While eating breakfast, the guest house owner kindly advised us that the drunk guy no longer works here. The news came too little too late and we caught the first bus out of town.

Dalat: A Market and a Crazy House

Surprisingly, until today, I hadn't missed the long sleeved shirts I shelved at my grandma's house when I first set off from there those many months ago. The temperate mountain climate coupled with the damp rainy season has left Dalat a little on the chilly side and I am completely unprepared. See, it's been months since I've seen a daytime temperature dip below thirty degrees (Celsius). In fact, in recent days, it's gone up as high as forty. My entire morning was spent shivering, covered with goosebumps and sniffly. Things improved a bit when I picked up an odd double hooded vinyl raincoat (apparently designed for a moto driver and passenger) at Cho Dalat, the market in the town square.

I always make it a habit to visit these markets because they are almost always teeming with interesting doo dads, local delicacies and photo opportunities. This is especially true with the one here. Breakfast consisted of stuffing myself sick on Vietnamese style Turkish delights (I got through half a bag before handing it off to a pair of boys who were following us around)

It's quite laid back here:


Basket of well behaved (they didn't look dead to me) chickens:


A shot of Ca Phe Sua Daa (Vietnamese iced coffee with condensed milk - ice not shown):

Anyway, Dalat has proven to be a delightful little town. It's how I'd picture Euro Disney if it fell into disrepair and got taken over by a bunch of commies (or at least that's the way I see it). The term the guidebook uses to describe the town is "kitschy." The place even has its own mini Eiffel tower:

On the outskirt of town, you can see that all the buildings are crammed tightly together:

We passed a kindergarten with a sign depicting "Uncle Ho" playing with the kids (creepy considering he's been dead for almost forty years now):

The levity of the above sign detracted by this one across the street that reminds the young folk to lay off their crack pipes:

I'm not too sure what we were thinking when we bypassed a historic train station for the "crazy house." Masterminded by a well heeled architect (her father was the president of Vietnam in the 80's), the crazy house is reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland on drugs (possibly the reason for the prevalence of anti-drug propaganda around town):

A night in a themed room here runs around $25USD but all were vacant when we visited (to no surprise) . Even Hobbes wouldn't want to share a room with this tiger:


Plans were made to stay another day in this odd little town to the point where we had loosely arranged a pair of motorbikes. Of course, thanks to a drunken guest house employee and a 'roid raging Kiwi, our visit has been cut short. Jo and I were up in the room catching up on our journals (I was more inclined to a couple of games of Freecell) when Andrew came charging in, cursing under his breath. What happened was, earlier in the day, we had told the guest house owner that our windows had leaked through last night and asked if someone could mop it up. Somewhere along the line, something got lost in translation and the employee set to the task saw it as a grave insult. So later in the evening, he gets drunk with this Kiwi and gangs up on Andrew, who was checking his email downstairs. Tempers flared, expletives were exchanged and fists were raised. Nothing major came out of the whole fiasco, but seeing as this guy has access to a master key and there are no deadbolts on our door, we're going to have to sleep with one eye open tonight.

Travel Day: Dalat

A considerable amount of time has passed since I last woke up early enough for a sunrise, and given my current location (the guest house is literally sitting on the South China Sea), I decided it was time to bust out the old alarm clock (a borrowed cel phone). The buzzer faithfully went off at 5:30 as planned, giving Jo and I ample time to stumble down to a couple of vacant deck chairs in the pre-dawn darkness. We had originally meant to watch the sun slowly hoist itself out of the ocean but ended up losing ourselves in conversation, sharing stories of our past lives back home and of adventures in places unknown. It was too bad a slight drizzle and the damp chill of the early morning air convinced Jo to head back to the comfort of her nice warm bed, cutting our conversation short. I stuck around for another couple of hours, sheltered by a thatched straw umbrella and watched little wooden fishing boats pop up one by one along the orange and blue horizon.

Not having paid attention to the time, mid morning arrived earlier than anticipated, leaving hardly enough time for me to wake the other two up and pack up all my gear. With a little effort we managed to organize ourselves and check out just in time... to wait fifteen minutes for the bus to arrive late. To our disappointment, the nice big "40 seater" we were promised could barely fit 15 comfortably. Now, far be it for me to over generalize, but honesty in this country is in short supply and today was just another example of it. On a daily basis, we've seen prices fluctuate on the whims of business owners (price tags are virtually non-existent here), promises broken and the truth bent beyond what I'd consider an acceptable level. Anyway, we made it safely to the little mountain town of Dalat, but not without incident. A girl sitting a couple of seats to my left got her puke on for most of the five hour ride. In a last ditch effort from tossing my cookies, I resorted to breathing over a dab of Tiger Balm smeared on my index finger.

The rainy season clouds and precipitation followed us all the way up to Dalat so we crawled under our respective blankets and called it a day. It was actually quite nice.

Mui Ne: Sand Dunes

Before heading out on the open road this morning, Andrew, Jo and I stopped by a small fishing village to top up our rented motorbikes and score a few VND at the ATM. We didn't make it too far into the market for supplies, unfortunately, because it was a little too crowded for our liking:

Having been relatively sheltered from the West since the Communist government took power, commercialism hasn't fully taken hold of the country. In place of product advertisements, many billboards here often focus instead on government sponsored messages:

Atop our list of priorities for the day were the picturesque dunes that lie due west of the town. The Red Dunes closest to Mui Ne were skippable thanks to the overabundance of tourists and the hoards of pushy children renting out sheets of plastic for sand sledding. I had considered renting one but these kids were just plain obnoxious (to the point of jumping in front of our bikes to slow us down) . These ones here were yelling out the customary "what your name?" "where you from?" and "wan dollah!" phrases that are oh so common in these parts:

Thankfully, the White Dunes, a fair distance away, were far more subdued. A tour was wrapping up just as we arrived so we had the whole place to ourselves.

I should have bought water before heading out today:

Instead of sliding down the sand on a sheet of plastic, I took the poor man's alternative and rolled down what must have been a four storey high dune (you will have to click on the small image below to see it) :

Hobbes waited up top and got sand all over his fur:



A lake of lotus plants below a dune:

The sand spills over onto certain stretches of the road, making driving a little bit trickier:

Though Nazi like in appearance, these swastika adorned grave sites are actually Buddhist in origin:

It was about four thirty when we found our way back to Mui Ne. With a few hours to kill before the bikes had to be returned, we went to the city center to photograph the colourful fishing boats moored in an inlet.


A sudden storm broke out soon after and we dashed to a nearby restaurant to wait it out. A half hour passed and the rain subsided enough for us to make the twenty minute drive back to the guesthouse. This was more or less when everything went wrong. First of all, unbeknownst to me, my bike had been burning gas twice as quickly as Andrew's all day. It didn't help that my gas gauge didn't work (it seems that most motorbikes are like that here). So about five minutes into our ride home, my bike stalled. Since Andrew and Jo were riding in front, they just kept on going. It was around this point, as I pushed my bike along to the nearest gas station (which was a stall full of gas filled coke bottles) , that the rain started again. Sensing my desperation, the gas station guy jacked up the prices. And it didn't end there. After I flagged down Andrew and Jo, we took a wrong turn and wound up ten minutes down the highway to Saigon. Anyway, things were sorted out and we arrived back at the guesthouse soaked and miserable.

On the upside, I fixed the shower so we had hot some water to warm up.

Travel Day: Mui Ne

So I'm sitting right at the back of the bus (that's where the cool kids sit, right?), minding my own business, when the reserve bus driver shows up. He wants the whole row to himself so that he can lie down for a nap. He ain't taking no for an answer. Now, the reason I'm sitting here is because Asian buses are made, well, for Asian people. That is to say, they don't accommodate for taller folk.

Anyway, the situation soon escalated to a battle of wills. I refused to budge because:

A. I'm a paying customer
B. I was there first

Of course, the reserve bus driver saw things differently because as the "reserve bus driver" (I guess he drives if something happens to the existing bus driver), he felt that the back seat was his entitlement. I suppose it would've been easier if I just gave in to his incessant hounding but at this point, I'm getting tired of being bullied around. At a stalemate, he decided to go ahead and lie down next to me, resting his legs on my lap and kicking me now and then out of spite. I stayed put on principle.

Things didn't improve much when we arrived in Mui Ne. Andrew went up front to tell the guy driving the bus to drop us off at a guesthouse along the way (as we had been promised). Unfortunately for us, bus drivers here get paid a commission for every passenger who stays at the guesthouse at the designated stop. We weren't allowed off and had to wait an hour to get back to the place we chose.

It should go without saying, customer service in Vietnam needs work.

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) - Random Stuff

Real estate comes at a premium in the crowded streets of central Saigon so buildings grow upwards rather than outwards. Many of these thin slivers replace the alleyways between old buildings:

Alterations can be done easily on the roadside:

Andrew's friend, Thui, took us out to the Binh Cuioi tourist village, a mini theme park of sorts, consisting of manufactured scenes from Vietnam. We didn't see too much of it because we had diverted our attentions toward a cheesy wedding photo shoot taking place:


Five seater:

Just before we turned in for the evening, we watched a bunch of local guys playing takraw, a game similar to hackey sack. Instead of a beanbag, though, they use a plastic shuttle with feathers on the end. You can hear a guy trying to sell us one in the background:

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) - Củ Chi Tunnels

Back in the day, an elaborate network of tunnels spanned 75-miles underneath Củ Chi district, with areas designated for kitchens, conference rooms, sleeping quarters and munitions bunkers. It's sort of ironic that the Củ Chi tunnels, originally established to drive out invading foreigners, now attract many thousands of tourists annually. The portion accessible to the general public has been widened to compensate for "fat American asses" (I overheard a tour guide say this to his group). Even with the broadened passages, claustrophobia kicked in not long into my dimly lit fifty meter crawl.


A tunnel left in its original state. It's hard to imagine people living in such cramped conditions. Hobbes for scale:

An old U.S tank sits where it fell. A delay mine put this one out of commission in 1970:

Trapdoors leading to spiked pits are on display near the entrance of the exhibit:


The original tunnel entrances do not accomodate for larger frames unfortunately, so I couldn't climb in this one for a photo op. The Viet Cong had similar entrances hidden all over the area, including a number by the U.S. 25th Infantry division's base camp. I've read that Viet Cong geurillas would pop out randomly, take a few pot shots at the U.S troops and go back into hiding:

The firing range in the compound is out of bounds except for paying customers. Unfortunately, it costs a buck a round and that kind of thing is not in my budget. I did snag a couple of photos and a souvenir shell casing before we got kicked out.


Sadly, the visit felt a little rushed thanks to sporadic heavy rains and our surly Viet Cong tour guide.

Taxi dashboard shrine:

Preparing our mid-afternoon snack: