Feeling Chammy: Danang, Hoi An and Cu Lao Cham

Traveling, everyone says, changes you in some way. You come into contact with other cultures, other people, new ways of thinking and push yourself out of your comfort zone. Now home after 9 months of flirting with South East Asia, 7 months of which were in a committed relationship with Vietnam, I am being asked by many people: "do you feel different?" , "how did it change you?" These are both questions that I find incredibly difficult to answer--the truth, as they say, 'is in the pudding.' This means that I am a delicious sweet treat and to know if I have changed, I must be gobbled up. My insides, my very core, sampled and treated like a delicacy. Which it is. I imagine a mixture of condensed milk, ginger, spring roll and a generous dash of rice wine to garnish. A fine cocktail of predominantly Vietnamese flavours.

A heightened 'sense of self' however is one sure fire result of traveling, particularly solo traveling. You are your own best friend, or worst enemy as it may transpire. I know more about my flaws, my weaknesses, my enjoyments, my loves and my strengths than I could ever have dreamed of before embarking on this adventure. One of these weaknesses is my nostalgia. I am a sentimentalist and a romanticist, making goodbyes to people or places and the subsequent aftermath of these, incredibly difficult. I fear however that I do not always appreciate just how good something is until it is rudely taken away from me. I am suffering the consequences now home in quiet Tipperary. Soldiers when they come home suffer from PTSD. Travelers I might suggest, endure PUBD- Post Unreality Blues Disorder.

After leaving Saigon I spent 5 weeks traveling around the middle and North of Vietnam. I did this slowly, sometimes spending up to one week in a place if I liked it enough. I was in no hurry. My first stop was the seaside city of Danang, the third largest city of Vietnam and once part of the ancient Cham Kingdom. In 1832 Cham territory was annexed by the Vietnamese. "It's so clean" many of my friends from Saigon had enthused. Arriving drunk with exhaustion after a 19 hour train ride, I shouldered my bags and prepared to walk the twenty minute trek to the hostel booked minutes earlier from the train station. Danang, at first glance seemed to offer me nothing to crow about. I noted an abundance of Chinese and Korean tourists feeling cultured, wearing the traditional Vietnamese Non La hat (It is besides the point that I now also wear this in Ireland) and the city seemed modern and without much character; big roads and too many hotels. This impression was undoubtedly coloured by my mood.  I encountered a new side of the city by night: a mesmerizing izing waterfront lit by neon lights and the Dragon bridge spewing smoke at irregular intervals.  This is a city where money has been invested and not pocketed...

A friend that I had met in Homestay Saigon lives in Danang. She introduced me to some local rice flour dishes: Banh loc, Banh Uot, Banh Beo and Banh Nam. 

Something urged me to stay and I obeyed, sampling two more hostels. I followed a thought process of 'The people maketh the place' and although the city seemed banal, its doorstep tempted me with its verdant green countryside and hills. Most impressive are the architectural great stone hands which support a golden bridge crowning the luscious and expansive jungle on Ba Na hill, a short half  hour drive from the city. The hands, I have heard, represent those of the 'Mountain Genie'...or maybe it's Buddha? Their greyish blue tinge certainly tinkles reminders of Aladdin's blue friend in a bottle. Perhaps I should have asked for three wishes as I crossed its curving path.

Tropical Forest Hostel gave me a taste of independence and exercise that I had been sorely missing in Saigon; taking full advantage of the free bicycle rental I set off on a long adventure around the Son Tra peninsula. This mountainous peninsula juts out into the ocean to the North of the city. A large White Buddha statue standing proud in the setting sun was a beautifully Asian resting point.

Across the road from Buddha was an abandoned building whose rooftop was being used as an unofficial bar. In the shelled downstairs there was a fridge containing beers and soft drinks which were taken and consumed upstairs on ubiquitous small plastic chairs. From here I watched the sunset. The cheapest rooftop bar offering the best view that I would likely ever find.

Tropical Forest was located near a very local part of the beach, slightly dirtier and smelling of the latest catch but also away from the maddening crowd. One evening, pedaling merrily along the beach front, I found a dozen canvas deck chairs coupled with squat tables looking out to sea. Local couples were collapsed in these mammoth chairs, disappearing into their stripes. Street vendors behind them were selling Nuoc Mia (Sugar Cane Juice---you have missed out) and Bap Xao (Fried sweetcorn with dried shrimp--again, YUM). I bought one of each for the equivalent of approximately one euro and settled down to some fine dining. The chair gave me the distinct impression that I had shrunk in the wash. I promptly went up for seconds.

Taking leave of my trustee steed and the solo adventures afforded me by remote Tropical Forest, I checked into the trendy Rom Casa hostel. This beauty was made entirely of disused shipping containers, including its adjacent swimming pool. Here the bicycle was replaced by the motorbike and I once again became life's passenger. I allowed my new Dutch pal to navigate us to sights such as The Marble Mountains and steeper passes of the Son Tra Peninsula that I had not yet penetrated (my bicyce had no gears, okay?!) including Monkey(less) mountain.  There are five marble mountains in total, each representing one element--Metal, Water, Fire, Earth and Wood. We visited water, we were parched. Speaking geologically, the marble mountains also contain limestone, giving them an imposing but impressive dark grey chromatism. The mountain, more like an enlarged jagged rock, is full of caves, pagodas, shrines, many...many steps and one small pond.  Huyen Khong Cave, the largest cave of the mountain's impressive collection,  is delicately lit by shafts of light showering the centre of the stone floor. The cave is entered through a beautiful archway inscribed with Chinese characters, into a courtyard and then by descending stone steps into Smaug's lair.

The dark space of dappled light is guarded by two slightly terrifying looking, brightly coloured gargoyles. This peaceful cave has been a space of switching loyalties;  During the French colonial period, it was a secret site for meeting revolutionaries and in Vietnam's tragic war with America, the South Vietnamese government used it as an army garrison. The mountains more broadly, were used as a training venue for militant marines. It switched hands again after an attack by the Viet Cong who turned the cave into a field hospital.

Switching loyalties myself and managing to miss a bus to Hoi An, I decided to take advantage of the soft heart of a Vietnamese man met the day before in Rom Casa's swimming pool. He had a motorbike and a possible crush on me. He drove me all the way to Hoi An and I repaid him with beer, promising to 'get in touch with him again'. Hoi An is beautiful as expected and the perfect location for anyone with an interest in fashion or tailoring or architecture or history or...the list goes on.  Sunny yellow walls topped with brown tiled roofs line narrow streets packed with tourists and business savvy women, keen to make the next sale. The ancient town spreads itself along the Thu Bon river an ancient trading port from the 16th and 17th centuries. As multicultural then as it is now. Realizing that my trustee Birkenstocks had gone past the point of no return, I got a new pair made for me in a dusty pink colour and for a quarter of the price of the German original's.

Palm trees are dotted along the banks at intervals and by night the town lights up with a million coloured lanterns. The ancient town however soon proves itself too much for a country gal. Like a Venice on steroids and too small for the hoards of tourists it attracts. I needed an escape.

I joined onto a bicycle tour offered by my hostel which brought us through the town's surrounding rice fields and into 'Tra Que', the vegetable village. Like a collection of allotments, this collective farmland provides vegetables for the restaurants, hotels and families living in Hoi An. It is a virtual island surrounded by a lagoon and the De Vong river. Here ancient Vietnam holds onto its traditional heritage, ignoring flashy modernity. A man in Non La lies on the back of his Water Buffalo, grinning in, is it pity? as girls stop to snap photos with their iPhones.

From Hoi An I caught a local ferry to Hon Lao island, the largest island in the Cu Lao Cham archipelago. These islands had been on my bucket list ever since reading an article heralding them as 'Plastic Free'. I had to see for myself. The reality was not quite as elementary: The cursed stuff was certainly reduced but on the ferry over I spied plastic water bottle stowaways and on the island plastic straws still reared their ugly heads in cafes. I don't know what I had expected, perhaps a plastic detector security system boarding the ferry?!

Homestay Bai Huong and its outdoor dining and washing up space. It looked onto a slice of jungle where monkeys could sometimes be spotted.

Yet all is not lost: I stayed with a local family (Hotels do not exist on the island) and went on a snorkeling trip with two Frenchmen, also staying with the same family. Our 'papa', Tung took us on his boat to the reef and we launched ourselves into water so clear and clean I had to wonder if I was in Vietnam. Nemo fish swam below us nestling amongst anemone, purple star fish spread themselves upon the sea bed and large coral castles in dripping wax created columns and cities to swim over and through. Just once I found a stray plastic bag and swam with it towards the small wooden fishing boat we had arrived in. I handed it wordlessly to our host who wrinkled his face into a grimace and took it from me, stashing it safely into his boat. This exchange showed perfectly that rather than an autocratic ban on plastic, the local people are on board and hope is there for further success in the future.
On the island, myself and the French lived in perfect tranquility. There was no WiFi so my short day and night trip was spent in bucolic simplicity. Food ecstasy was indulged in every meal cooked by Mama Hiep and on the early morning of my last day I joined Tung and Pierre on a fishing trip. Groggy and bleary eyed the exciting dance of fish on the end of a line was a quick wake up call. Even more effective was the spontaneous swim in water infested with a million invisible stinging jellyfish!

After breakfast I boarded my ferry back to the mainland and what felt like 'reality' after a piece of heaven. Reality was boarding a bus the next day to Phong Nha kingdom of the caves. Reality was more adventure. Reality, I must learn, need not always be tinged by negativity. By wanting to prolong idyllic moments it's easy to forget that around the corner may be something just as beautiful.

Our host father Tung; a far superior fisherman than either me or Pierre, and he knew it!

View from the small fishing village of Bai Huong on Hon Lao island. The island had no ATM's, Wifi or Hotels. 

Returning from Snorkeling