A Day in the Life

Da Nang is less than 100 kilometres south of Hue, but as the train was pulling into the station it was clear that the character of Vietnam had suddenly and completely changed. The geography of Vietnam, with its north-south orientation, means that its climate can vary wildly as one travels from higher to lower latitudes and it was as though we had passed through an invisible gate. The dramatic landscape of the limestone karsts surrounded by drizzle and mist rising from the earth like stone giants in the north was now replaced by the sun-drenched sands and dewy air of the tropical coast.

By now I had been in-country for more than 10 days and had begun to get my bearings. I felt confident on the motorcycle, I knew how to find affordable and comfortable lodgings in any part of town, I was capable of ordering the noodle soup of my choice free of any organ meats and other strange surprises, and I had established various daily routines that both promoted my well-being and kept my balance of work and play in check. Along the trail to Saigon, it was safe to say that Vietnam was good to me as though the country had been designed to facilitate all of the facets of travel I find most enjoyable. For thirty days, until the termination of my travel visa, there was a cheeky grin firmly affixed upon my face and in all of my years of travel, I am hard-pressed to remember a time and a place when I felt so much joy and freedom.

Vietnam is replete with accommodations suited to any budget, but even the most opulent hotel choice would be considered affordable by the standards of many other countries. For those who visit, small monies go a long way and achieving a comfortable and restful night’s sleep at the right price eliminates much of the guesswork and anxiety of an otherwise mundane task thereby freeing up the coffers to be spent on more satisfying activities. For someone like me, working as I travel, a beachfront view above the noise of the street but still in earshot of the ocean in a boutique hotel was well within reach.

My days began with the sunrise flooding in through the hotel window where I would spring from the bed over to the kettle to warm the water for my morning cup of coffee. Every hotel provided packets of instant coffee, but these were no bland flavourless crystals of Nescafe. In Vietnam, where cups of the famed Kopi Luak can be had at any local coffee shop, even the instant coffee had a certain natural sweetness to it that fused harmoniously with the bitterness of the bean and could rival any cup of fresh brew in North America.

Most boutique hotels included breakfast in the room rate, but, as someone who usually skipped a morning meal, I would delay this activity as long as possible and used these early hours toward more productive pursuits. Breakfasts were buffet-style with a mix of North American (eggs, bacon, pancakes, etc.) and local dishes. I was guaranteed my daily noodle soup and the breakfast buffet also became an opportunity to explore a bit more of the local cuisine than I would otherwise have had the courage to do were I ordering sight unseen from a local eatery. It always seemed as though Vietnamese dishes were complete in their inclusion of a protein, a starch, and a healthy amount of leafy greens, with wonderful small surprises that I would never see again once I moved on. Pork meat minced and rolled into small crispy dumplings, shrimps in a light tangy broth with flat noodles, jellyfish salads, and all sorts of odd and unique treats sprang up at the various hotel buffets that helped to kickstart the play portion of the day.

Assuming I was up to date with all of my work responsibilities, the noon hour meant either checking out of my lodgings and moving on or heading over to a local motorcycle rental shop to begin exploring the outskirts of town. In Vietnam, you can rent a motorcycle for 100,000 dong (about $5) per day. Every shop will initially quote you a price of 150,000 or 200,000 dong per day, but I learned that you need only speak of the previous town you had visited and mention that renting a motorcycle there was only 100,000 and the shop owner would point you to another motorcycle, which appeared much the same as the all the others, and say that it could be rented for 100,000. Vietnamese shop owners are savvy, but sensible enough to know that supply far outweighs demand and that renting a motorcycle for 100,000 dong per day is preferable to not renting it at all. There are no local monopolies in Vietnam and another shop is always willing and just around the corner.

Having the motorcycle opened up all kinds of opportunities for exploration. Traffic outside of the city was usually light, the roads were paved and easy to ride and, having graduated from novice to intermediate rider, it was now relaxing and almost meditative to feel the vibration of the engine between my legs and the wind blowing through my beard as I sped along the roadways lined with rice paddies and palm forests. Depending on where I was and how interesting I found the surrounding area, I could leave on the motorcycle and stay out exploring for 3 to 4 hours. This would often mean riding up into the nearby hills to try to catch a view, weaving in and out of traffic in the city, or riding off to some of the nearby villages to get a glimpse of rural Vietnam. There were always excursions I could organize and temples to visit but they all come with an admission fee and touts trying to rope you into paying to park your motorcycle. There are a hundred and one little things that visitors are coaxed into paying for, and, as I was happiest just being on the motorcycle and off exploring, I rarely stopped.

What always brought me back was the beach. If the waves were big and ideal for frolicking, on some days I would forego renting the motorcycle altogether feeling that the afternoon was better spent splashing around in the sea. Central Vietnam is only 10 degrees north of the equator which meant that the weather was always warm but, being close to the sea, the air was always breezy and comfortable. Riding waves and splashing around in the sea can be exhausting and I had always thought it unwise to spend too much time out in the sun, so once I felt I had had my fill I would return to my accommodation, have a shower, and ease into the late afternoon and evening.

Returning from the afternoon adventure involved exploring the town with the goal of procuring fresh fruit from one of the local fruit sellers. A typical haul would include two passion fruits, a mango the size of a human head, and a whole pomelo. Pomelo wasn’t cheap compared to much of the other fruit on offer, but, considering the total daily food budget could easily be kept under $10 and the fact that they were so tasty, it was daily craving I was happy to indulge. Beyond these staples, there were all sorts of other exotic delicacies to sample including jackfruit, rose apples, rambutan, mangosteen, and soursops.

Durian was a whole matter unto itself that I danced around for weeks. Durian comes in a casing designed to induce fear. The shell of a ripe durian can grow as large as a human torso and is covered in rugged blunt spikes like dragon scales with several fist-sized nuts of waxy fruity flesh inside. Durian is expensive and precious and no one who eats durian is ever on the fence – they either love it or they hate it. However, for many, just the smell of durian can be so offensive that it is banned in several hotels and other public places in Asia. The story goes that there is something in the rind, and, whether you love it or hate it, the smell is pungent and lingers and clings to all it touches. For those who love it, the process of purchasing durian is an event. It is not a matter of just grabbing the fruit, knocking on it to check if it is ripe and paying the fruit seller. Instead, there is a long conversation about each durian on the seller’s cart, where it came from, how old it is, its parentage, and whatever else might be known about it. One whole durian, cut and segmented, can cost upwards of twenty to forty dollars, so one has to be sure about their investment. This expense, however, made it prohibitive for anyone who just wanted to try it. No seller I met would allow me to simply taste a small piece of the fruit to see if I liked it or not which was a testament to just how prized as a foodstuff it actually is. One small segment can cost as much as a few dollars, so sellers understand that giving away free samples represents bad business especially if it is wasted on someone who is obviously not a local and unsure about the whole thing. Though I was never able to try whole durian, there were other ways to get a taste for it in the form of durian mochis and other cakes or dried treats sold at most Circle K stores and other grocers. It was never something that put me off completely, nor something that I ever warmed up to, but I regret leaving Vietnam without any real closure on the matter. One day I will return and rectify the matter so that I can know, once and for all, where I stand.

In Vietnam, when 6 pm arrives the sun begins to set and I would usually find some second wind to hunker down in front of the computer and devote a couple of hours to getting ahead on the next day. If I could clear some extra space, that could mean having a little extra time tomorrow to spend in the sea, or on the motorcycle, or wandering on foot through the city. And when I felt as though I had put my stamp on the day, I would descend back down into the street to inspect the street stalls that spring up in the afternoon. Fried chicken, pockets of fried dough stuffed with seafood, meat skewers, spring rolls, and dumplings, I would not have to walk too far to find some small treat to satisfy any craving for a bit of salt and savoury after all of that fruit.

Mochi is a soft gelatinous bubble of rice paste that is lightly sweetened and stuffed with a small dollop of flavoured cream. Common flavours include milk cream, green tea, taro, and black sesame. I had developed a taste for mochis early on and would usually stop in at a nearby Circle K and pick up a package along with a bottle of water to cap off whatever savoury treat I had purchased for myself. It ends up being a lot of sleep-inducing carbohydrates and my eyes were often bigger than my stomach. I will admit to not always making it to the end of my mini-meal only to wake in the night and find my computer screen asking me if I was still watching Netflix.

Repeat.