Travels with TS Ernie
When you travel alone, it’s not uncommon to meet traveling companions along the way. Many people enjoy discovering new countries and friends as they make solo travel plans. Travelers to Vietnam, though, are often unsure as to whether they can plan on making travel arrangements safely in country, or if they need a prearranged itinerary. I made many of my plans once I arrived in Vietnam. But for part of my travels, the prearranged tour made sense. I was hoping to cover a lot of ground in a limited number of days and didn’t want to risk a delay. I knew I would have a guide and a driver. If I made a friend along the way, that would be great. What I didn’t expect was that my traveling companion would be a tropical storm named Ernie.
My new travels took me out of the Mekong. This trip was prearranged with local guides hired through Vietnam Tourism. My last morning in the Mekong Delta was a typical bright, sunny, warm one. In the rearview mirror of the rented car, my friends waved as I headed north on Highway 1, into Ho Chi Minh City.
I remembered Ira Barrows’ article in Destination:Vietnam (March/April 1996) about taking the Hue train. It had encouraged me to plan part of this journey by train, but also to be sure to cross the Hai Van pass either by car or train. Once in Ho Chi Minh City, I boarded the Reunification Express north. My reservations were soft berth, which makes travel very comfortable. I had a lower berth to rest and stretch out on as the train made its slow journey north.
My Vietnam Tourism package tour included several stops as I made my way north. My stops were to include Nha Trang, Danang, the Marble Mountains, Hoi An, China Beach, the Hai Van Pass as well as Hue. What’s nice about this itinerary is that it is varied enough in its focus and attractions that it seems to be a sampler of Vietnam. The first stop, Nha Trang, is a resort attraction.
Nha Trang is a city that is already attracting tourists from the cruise ship stopovers. With its now-open Ana Mandara multi-million dollar beach resort, Nha Trang may well become strong competition to other resort towns in Asia. I was in Nha Trang when I met Tropical Storm Ernie. The rain started on Saturday morning and stayed with me.
As I got on the train to go north, I expected to awake the next morning in a dry Danang. Just before 6:00 a.m, I woke up on the train near Quang Ngai. Someone had closed the metal shutters on the windows during the night. When I opened them, the rain was pounding the rice paddies. As they filled and began to overflow, it was hard to imagine that it would be much of a day. The high water level in the streams and rivers we rolled past showed the same intense flooding I had witnessed in the Mekong. An acquaintance in Nha Trang told me that the farmers don’t mind a flood because it kills the mice and brings silt into the fields. The possible loss of a crop is a large price to pay to fertilizer and pest control.
I was met at the train station, in the rain, by my guide who was holding a typical tourism sign with my name on it. My passport states my given name, “Frederick,” so naturally, his sign said “Mr. Frederick.” His name was Nguyen Con Thong and we exchanged introductions. I told him I usually go by “Fritz” but Fritz is very difficult to pronounce in Vietnamese and as our day continued, it metamorphosizes into a friendlier “Frank” or “Fred.”
Our first stop in Danang is the Cham Museum. This museum, built in 1915 has one of the most extensive collections of Cham sculpture anywhere. The museum is open daily from 11:00 to 5:00 and is a U-shaped building around a diamond-shaped courtyard. Starting to the left as you face the building, are the museum’s oldest relics, which date from the 7th century. Working clockwise through the building, the displays include artifacts up until the 15th century. The museum sells a multi-language guidebook to its exhibits where the $1.00 admission ticket is sold, but I was content to have Thong with me as guide and translator. The museum features sandstone carvings, such as altars and images of Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu.
As we toured the museum, I heard a distinctive southern American Georgian drawl voice describing the sculptures. As I turned around, I saw only Thong. He continued his southern drawl with perfect inflection. He dropped the “accent” and explained that he has worked with many Americans. He then gave me fluent accents from Georgia, Texas and New York which made me laugh because his impersonations were so exact. It was a dreary day with so much rain but Thong’s humor put me in a better mood.
We continued looking around the museum. Throughout our tour, Thong asked about contemporary American cultural and political figures and when it was time to leave, the rain picked up again. We threw on our ponchos and as we left the covered shelter of the museum, Thong asked if I remembered the Beatles.
“Sure,” I said
Thong started to sing:
“Well she was just seventeen…”
I walked down the rain-covered sidewalk and looked at him with obvious curiosity.
“…you know what I mean…”
I stopped walking but he grabbed my arm and led me down the steps singing:
“And the way she looked was way beyond compare…”
Reluctantly I looked around to see who was staring at us when he belted out louder,
“Come on, Frank, sing!”
“…So how could I dance with another?…”
I joined him for the falsetto:
“o-o-o-o-o-ooh …when I saw her standing there.”
“You remember the words, don’t you?” Thong asked.
And I thought I did until he started the second and third verses. Clearly, he has a better memory for lyrics than I, but I hummed along to his rainy day karaoke as we hunted up our car and driver.
I tried my best to dry off my camera lens and looked out the car window at the never-ending rain. We were scheduled to drive to Hoi An and also stop at Marble Mountains and China Beach. As we left Danang and drove south, it was obvious the rain was more than a shower. Water covered the roads in places. Our driver moved the car though the intersections as if we were in a “no wake” zone at a marina.
The rain surrounding Tropical Storm Ernie was still falling when we got to Hoi An, about 30 km south of Danang. This interesting and beautiful city was a major international seaport in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. It’s known for its antique architecture and small narrow streets. Because I was part of an organized tour, my “entrance ticket” to the more popular sites was prearranged and prepaid. The 50,000 dong ticket allowed me to visit one of the four museums; one of the three Assembly halls; one of the four old houses; and either the Japanese Bridge or Quan Cong’s temple.
The old town section of Hoi An is closed to vehicle traffic which makes it easy to wander around the streets and in and out of shops. As we went along, Thong continued his narration and storytelling. He asked if I remembered Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra and Robert McNamara. His knowledge of both Vietnamese and American culture is impressive, although his references seemed like a time capsule from 1969. The rain continued and I was secretly hoping he didn’t remember Burt Bacharach’s “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.”
Several of Hoi An’s structures are historic. What makes them unique is the traditional architecture forms rarely seen today. The local government is making a concerted effort to use tourism dollars to refurbish and preserve the history. Hoi An was the site of the first Chinese settlement in southern Vietnam and there are many Chinese Hoi Quan or assembly halls.
The rain continued to fall throughout our tour. Thong told me that Hoi An often floods and that the water rises to the roof gables of the houses in town. I looked up to the second story of the home before us. The rain pelted my cheeks. Their ability to maintain in the face of adversity is astonishing–both the buildings’ and Thong’s.
The rain got heavier as we headed toward China Beach. There are people who identify China Beach with the late 1980s television show. The people who remember the military R & R facility near here have some disagreement as to whether the location is here, or at My Khe beach on the northern side of Marble Mountains. Today, China Beach is a hotel resort, on the South China Sea at the end of a winding road. Tropical Storm Ernie made any hopes of a sunny beach walk out of the question. As we scurried from the car to the covered pavilion to look at the surf, the waves pounded the sand and the cloud ceiling was low.
The beach was deserted. I did my best not to be disappointed and I thought of my sister who has a collection of sand and water from her travels around the world. On a shelf in her den, she has tiny bottles labeled: Beirut, Costa Rica, Baja and others. I took an empty water bottle and walked across the beach to add to her collection. The wind and rain pounded my shirt and vest, but I dipped the bottle in the surf and resealed the cap.
We deleted the Marble Mountains from our plans. Neither Thong nor I felt up to the hike in the rain or risking a fall because of the slick surfaces. As we drove further, Thong lapsed into a southern Texas accent, “C’mon, c’mon, lets move it! Move it! Move it!” He smiled with some pride and told me that’s what he remembered from 1965 when the American soldiers came ashore just north of Danang at Red Beach. After he related his story about watching the landing as an 11-year old, I asked him to take me there. Red Beach looks like a roadside rest stop, with a great beach (if it weren’t raining). He pointed out where he and his father stood, watching the Americans move ashore. In my mind I can picture the news footage with Thong’s Texas drawl for narration. I’ve recorded and photographed a lot of our tours, but I just sat and listened to his own story. We posed for a photograph together and I filled a second bottle of water for my sister.
As we drove north I looked forward to some of the most beautiful scenery in all of Vietnam: the Hai Van Pass. The road through the pass, with its view of the ocean is similar to the drive to Hana on Maui. Well, that is,…so I’m told. The cloud ceiling was so low that less than halfway up the pass, we were in dense fog. Literally the visibility was less than 50 feet. No exaggeration–no scenery, no view. Through most of our travels, Thong had been chatting and keeping up a conversation. He and the driver were mostly silent and white-knuckled through the pass. The driver told Thong he’d never seen fog like that. Thong related this to me and agreed. When we did get to the other side and made our final push into Hue, it was obvious that T.S. Ernie had delivered a lot of rain in a short period of time.
According to reports in Viet Nam News, that Sunday’s rain amounts in Binh Dinh province, south of Danang and Hue, were close to 400 mm (15.7 inches) and in Hue, 212 mm (8.3 inches) on Sunday alone. As we passed a small farm, the younger members of the family were busy herding water buffalo from the flood-swollen fields across the highway to higher ground. The water in the fields was water buffalo head deep. As they lumbered their way out of the water and across the road, we stopped to let them cross.
My hotel in Hue was the first large tourist hotel in which I have stayed. The Huong Giang Hotel on the Perfume River on Le Loi Street has 102 rooms and a swimming pool. As I walked past the pool, in the pouring rain, it was clearly not a good day for the beach or the swimming pool.
I was told my room had a “river view” off the second lobby of the hotel. Out my room window I could see a 15-foot wide verandah. Descending from the verandah, there are stairs down to what is a river side walk. Ordinarily, I would guess the river edge was 20 or more feet from the hotel window and the water level 15 or more feet below the floor of the hotel room. That’s my guess. This day, there were two stairs and then the river. The paper said that the river level had risen 3.99 meters. I looked across the verandah to the Dap Da Bridge which spans the Perfume River.
The water was flowing rapidly, just under the street level of the bridge. At times, the water overflowed the bridge, but it was still being used by bicycles and cars. I walked around the lobby and onto the verandah where workers were busy moving potted plants and outdoor furniture. I asked one of the hotel employees how high the water might get.
“It’s flooded three times in a week,” he answered. He gestured toward the door, putting his hand at his knee. “The water can get this high.” I quickly realized that if the water did get that high, my “room with a river view” took on a whole new soggy meaning. Asking the obvious, I queried, “What happens then?” “Don’t worry,” he said, “we’ll move you to a higher floor.” With this assurance I ate dinner and went to sleep early.
Around 2:00 a.m., I woke up to a persistent sound of water lapping outside the window. I opened it and looked out to find that the Perfume River had now overtaken the verandah around the hotel. The water was six feet below my window and four feet below the floor level. Still half asleep, I gathered up my belongings and packed, moving everything to the top of a table and tried to sleep, but mostly I listened to the rising water.
Daybreak was still cloudy and raining. The river had risen another foot or so, but hadn’t closed in enough to concern the hotel staff. They occasionally looked out a window, but their workday went on.
Dap Da bridge was submerged, making rapids in the swift moving water. No vehicle traffic dared to cross the bridge, so a steady stream of boats ferried people in both directions across the river.
Thong met me in the lobby and we walked to the car in the rain. “Today we are supposed to take a boat cruise to visit Thiem Mu Pagoda.” We exchanged looks with each other, mostly of disbelief. Judging from the current outside my hotel window, a boat trip seemed like a waste of time. Thong continued, “So, instead we will try to drive.”
I agreed with the choice to stay off the river. We drove through the city, passing the Citadel and drove along Le Duan Street. This route parallels the river which had left its banks and was moving close to the street, claiming control of the houses along the Perfume River’s edge. Less than a kilometer beyond the Citadel, the river had crossed the road in a low-lying spot. Thong consulted with the driver and said to me,
“I don’t think we should go today–we can get there, but we may not be able to get back.” And then, without missing a beat, he slipped back into his Texan drawl. The “Texan Thong” suggested that we go on to the Citadel and the forbidden city.
The rain began to fall harder. The puddles grew larger as we splashed our way up to the entrance of the Citadel. We walked through the gates to the left of the main gate. The main gate, reserved for the use of the emperor, is closed to the public. As we walked through and approached the lotus ponds, the water was nearly at the walk’s level. Thong said that the water level is usually 10 feet lower. As we made our way deeper into the Citadel, my feet seemed to find every puddle. Thong and I were the only ones walking around.
Thong could see that I was walking a little slower and taking fewer pictures than I had in the earlier parts of our trip. He reverted to his singing trick to cheer me up.
“Come on sing with me. It was twenty year ago today, Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play.” I joined him in a verse or two and we made our way to the Emperor’s throne room. We were still the only visitors and Thong cautioned me against taking photos there, but that I would have a chance later. His idea of my photo op is a staged throne room complete with period costumes. Here, Thong tells me, for $1.00 I could dress up like an emperor and have my picture taken. I’m certain this is probably quite popular with large groups of tourists who have been captive in a tour bus. That day, the chance to be emperor didn’t appeal to me and we moved on to the library.
Somewhere well within the walls of the forbidden city, we walked over a rain-soaked sidewalk with deep standing puddles. I was walking slower and with each step, my shoes got wetter, my socks got heavier and my pants got soggier
“Remember Yesterday, Fred?” Not thinking about his karaoke time capsule, I tried to remember yesterday’s travels, but Thong began to sing “…Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away! Now it looks as though they’re here to stay, Oh, I believe in yesterday…”
He was quiet for a moment thinking about the lyrics. I helped him with the next line “…Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be!” And together we continued, walking and singing back to the car. “There’s a shadow hanging over me, Oh, yesterday came suddenly” We approached our driver as we got to the last line, and we both butchered the “yesterday-ay-ay-ay”
Having been rained out of Hue, I tried to see how I might change my itinerary to move on to Hanoi a little earlier. Thong and Vietnam Tourism graciously helped me make the changes and he and the driver dropped me at the airport. I made a note that on a future trip to Vietnam, it would be nice to spend some time here. Some time without T. S. Ernie, that is, to see what I had missed. As the flight attendant did a bilingual “seat backs and tray tables” speech, I thought about Thong and his time capsule karaoke. The plane took off and I mentally re-wrote the words to the Beatles’ “Back in the USSR”:
“Flew in from China Beach BOAC
Didn’t get to bed last night
All the time my soggy socks
were on my feet…”
I stopped myself. I wasn’t even close without Thong.
Published on 8/1/97 in Things Asian
