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Simon O'Reilly

This is the second of a three-part series looking at Vietnam as it evolved from a poverty-stricken post-war country into the tourist destination it is today.
Vietnam’s first post-war tourists from non-socialist and non-Communist countries were strictly chaperoned and could only stay in approved accommodation. After a number of reforms at the end of the 1980s and early 90s, tourists could choose where they went and where they stayed.
In early 1994 a friend and I flew into Vietnam. I swear the engines went silent, then roared into action, on the final approach to Ho Chi Minh City.
As we taxied to the terminal we passed wrecked planes, including many US military aircraft from the war, that had been pushed to the sides of the runway and just left there.

Ho Chi Minh City was bustling with drivers who gleefully ignored all traffic rules. We stayed in a hotel in a six-storey building overlooking a busy road. At street level there were places selling Vietnam’s fierce drip coffee and cans of beer.
There were a few stalls selling Zippo lighters, which, if you believed the seller, were all taken from dead American soldiers. Others sold jewellery made from bullet casings and other oddities.
We changed some US dollars into dong. At the time, US$100 was worth a million dong. We decided to change that amount just to become instant millionaires. The largest-denomination banknote was 5,000 dong, and we both ended up with a stupidly thick wad of notes.

Our original plan was to head up the coast, and see if we could reach Hanoi. We travelled by bus and train. The trains were full but pretty comfortable, and less frenetic than train rides in India at the time.
My most vivid train memory? Early in the morning, everyone starting cooking dried cuttlefish for breakfast over little round charcoal grills in the gaps between the bench seats. The smell was something else.
On another leg of the journey, we took a bus that was older than we were, and jammed with people and all their belongings, some of which made strange squawking noises.
This bus broke down after an hour or two, and we all piled off and stood around while the driver and his assistant banged around underneath the ancient vehicle.

During this break, we had a surreal encounter with a tiny and fierce old Vietnamese lady. We were smiling and saying “Hi” to the other passengers, when she came up to us scowling, pointed her finger menacingly and told us angrily, “You [are] number 10.”
“Sorry?” we replied.
“You number 10, you no good. You American. I VC [Viet Cong]. I kill Americans.”
“No, no, we’re British,” we said – hastily pulling out our passports.
After it was confirmed we were not Americans, she smiled, waggled her finger and told us, “OK you British. You number six”, and strolled off, much to the amusement of the crowd that had gathered.
Fair enough.

During that trip, we asked a few Vietnamese people what they thought of the Americans. The answer was usually along the lines of: “We fought the Chinese for 1,000 years, we fought the French for 60, the Americans were only here for a short stay and we sent them packing, too.”
Some were upset at the harsh treatment they received after the US pulled out. Cyclo drivers were often ex-South Vietnamese soldiers and spoke good English. They had suffered badly for being on the losing side.
While Hong Kong, Japan and most places in the region were crazy about karaoke and nightclubs, Vietnam’s main social outlet back then seemed to be ballroom dancing. It all looked pretty formal and we would see these dances, usually in a structure with a roof but no walls, in most of the towns.

We came across a place selling hammocks, and decided we would sleep out under the stars between palm trees on one of the countless empty beaches. After hiring a couple of scooters in Da Nang, we rode off into the wild blue yonder.
Later, when it was getting dark, we were confronting the reality of finding correctly spaced trees by the dim gleam of our headlamps. Slogging through shallow and deep sand, we finally found the spot. We set up our hammocks and crashed out.
Waking up after a pretty uncomfortable night – the human spine only comfortably bends in one direction – we decided to head off and find some coffee. We had no idea where we were, but were confident we could find our way back to Da Nang. Then we saw the wooden sign we had ridden past in the dark.
Mines.
Gulp.
Being smart young men, we decided we would ride the scooters away quickly and hope for the best. Luckily there were no bangs, and we could see a few huts in the distance away from the beach.
Perfect. There would be a track, then a road, then the north-south highway that would take us back to Da Nang.

Then, as we reached the tiny village, we ran out of fuel.
OK, so we may be walking for a few hours.
The first to come and investigate were the kids from the village. We had one of those conversations where both sides speak their own language but the message still gets across.
Then the adults came. Two minutes later, they brought a big bottle of petrol, some water and a snack for us to eat. We wanted to pay for it, but they politely but firmly refused.

It was a humbling experience for us, but so typical of the Vietnamese people we met. Despite the crushing poverty and living through decades of strife and austerity, they were generous and honest, and had a real sense of pride about who they were.
We were always being offered food and drinks, and it was often impossible to pay for them.
We never made it to Hanoi. The sunny weather in the south gave way to torrential rain as we went north. We turned around after a few days in Hue, about halfway up the country, but that is another story.


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Asia travel

In 1994 Vietnam landmines, Viet Cong and kindness on a surreal and humbling trip up coast

Everywhere we went people wanted to talk to us. A road stop on the way to Nha Trang, Vietnam, 1994. Photo: Simon O’Reilly

A roadside stall outside Nha Trang, Vietnam, in 1994. Despite all they had endured in the preceding decades, the Vietnamese people were generous, and willing to help out a foreigner in need.  Photo: Simon O’Reilly

Travelling by cyclo in Vietnam in 1994. Vietnam’s first tourists after the war from non-socialist and non-Communist countries were chaperoned, but this had changed by the early 90s. Photo: Simon O’Reilly

A cyclo ride in Vietnam in 1994. Cyclo drivers were often former soldiers who had fought with the American forces and were discriminated against after the war ended. Photo: Simon O’Reilly

Travelling by bus in Vietnam in the early 90s could be a long, cramped and sometimes hazardous affair, and it was always a relief to arrive at the destination. Photo: Simon O’Reilly

A friendly Vietnamese man during a halt for a broken-down bus, outside Nha Trang. Photo: Simon O’Reilly

A “shop” in a village south of Da Nang, Vietnam, 1994. Photo: Simon O’Reilly

When we ran out of fuel, a group of village kids “on patrol” came to investigate the curious sight. Near Da Nang, Vietnam, 1994. Photo: Simon O’Reilly

It is difficult to convey how genuinely friendly and hospitable people were in Vietnam in the years before tourism took off. Outside Da Nang, 1994. Photo: Simon O’Reilly

Climate change and overfishing threaten Vietnam’s traditional fish sauce makers

A villager makes fish sauce in his home in Nam O, Da Nang, Vietnam. Climate change is affecting the supply of anchovies on which the traditional trade depends. Photo: AP

Mass-produced fish sauce, like this brand on display at a supermarket in Hanoi, Vietnam, threatens the livelihoods of traditional makers of the condiment, but it is not the only threat they face. Photo: AP

Fishermen in the waters off Nam O, Da Nang. Photo: 

Fishermen on a beach in Da Nang, Vietnam, haul in a net. Warming seas are affecting fish stocks. Photo: AP

Fishermen unload their catch from their boat at the harbour in Da Nang. Photo: AP

Worms are sometimes added to the fish sauce made in Nam O. Photo: AP

Sardines ferment to produce fish sauce in a village home in Nam O, Da Nang. Photo: AP 

A villager makes fish sauce in his home in Nam O. Photo: AP

1,000 years of history sandwiched between Red River and Mekong delta on the Reunification Express through Vietnam

A preserved Reunification Express steam locomotive at Saigon Station,  Vietnam. Photo: Thomas Bird

Hue’s Thien Mu Temple viewed from the Perfume Pagoda. The city, a stop on the Reunification Express from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, was the capital of the Nguyen dynasty from 1802. Photo: Thomas Bird

A train nuzzles its way down “Train Street”, a modern-day tourist attraction in Hanoi, Vietnam. Photo: Thomas Bird

A propaganda poster reading: “Hanoi–Hue–Saigon, the country is united on Line One”. Photo: Thomas Bird

Karst country in Ninh Binh, Vietnam, briefly its imperial capital in the 10th and 11th centuries. Photo: Thomas Bird

Hanoi’s Long Biên Bridge. Photo: Thomas Bird

Hanoi Railway Station. Photo: Thomas Bird

An ornate gate within the Imperial enclosure in Hue, Vietnam. Photo: Thomas Bird

Hue Railway Station. Photo: Thomas Bird

Passengers wait inside Hue Railway Station. Photo: Thomas Bird

A passenger travelling south with a cat. ‘I’m from Saigon,” he says, a reminder that nobody in the South uses the city’s new name. Photo: Thomas Bird

Passengers stream out of Saigon Station, southern terminus of the Reunification Express. Photo: Thomas Bird

Travel influencer couple on horror India gang rape and Taliban interrogation during epic 6-year motorbike trip

Travel influencers Fernanda (right) and Vicente take a break in Spiti Valley, in the northern Indian state of Himachal Pradesh, during their six-year motorbike trip. The couple open up about Fernanda’s gang rape in India and other experiences during their trip, including being interrogated by the Taliban in Afghanistan. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

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Fernanda with a rented motorbike in Sri Lanka. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Fernanda and Vicente in Jodhpur, India. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Fernanda and Vicente camp near Kalut, in Iran’s Hormozgan province. Photo: Instagram @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Fernanda and Vincente at the Khunjerab Pass, in the mountains on the border of Pakistan and China. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Fernanda makes friends in Rajasthan, India. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Fernanda and Vicente in Samarra, Iraq. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Fernanda in Kuwait, approaching Saudi Arabia. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Fernanda and Vicente in Cappadocia, Turkey. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Fernanda and Vicente near Passu, a small village in northern Pakistan’s Gilgit-Baltistan region. Photo: Instagram / @vueltaalmundoenmoto

Lifestyle

Travel & Leisure

Vietnam in 1994 was a place of adventure and the occasional hazard, and one where the people were generous, honest and proud


Vietnam in 1994 was a place of adventure and the occasional hazard, and one where the people were generous, honest and proud.


Vietnam

Tourism

Legacy of war in Asia

In 1994 Vietnam landmines, Viet Cong and kindness on a surreal and humbling trip up coast

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}Vietnam in 1994 was a place of adventure and the occasional hazard, and one where the people were generous, honest and proud

Vietnam in 1994 was a place of adventure and the occasional hazard, and one where the people were generous, honest and proud