The ‘Real’ Vietnam

Our overnight stop had been made in a small town called Kon Tum. In the morning we took a brief tour of the town, before cracking into another, marathon 240km leg of our journey south. We made stops in two villages of the Bahnar peoples. Their lives in this region of Vietnam are quite restricted and the government is following a strong line of ‘Vietnamisation’ here. Their peaceful and law-abiding communities are policed with a heavy hand because the government is scared that they may disappear and migrate over the border into Cambodia – leaving fertile, arable land un-worked. Much of this seems to stem from a residual resentment at the Montagnard’s co-operation with American and Southern Vietnamese forces during the conflict. It seems a little churlish to continue to punish these people for, what was effectively, coerced co-operation over thirty years ago. However, this residual ill-feeling (and often hostility) against Southern Vietnamese ‘collaborators’ is much in evidence in all areas of government policy.
We spent some time with a local family…it made such a refreshing change to be amongst ethnic minorities in this country and not feel like prey under the shadow of a stooping hawk. Not only were these people not trying to sell us anything, they seemed content to talk and drink tea with us – forsaking their daily routines to show hospitality to visitors.
After the villages we made our way to a place that has more meaning for me (and I suspect Russ) than anything else I’d seen in Vietnam. The Cô Nhi Vinh Son I orphanage, on the outskirts of town was one of the most uplifting – and simultaneously – heart-breaking places I’ve ever been to. The bright, welcoming exterior – dominated by the religious architecture of the Catholic order that oversees the daily administration, education and welfare of its charges – belied a dark, featureless interior…echoing, empty rooms, devoid of toys or the other distractions of childhood. A lingering smell of urine and lice-treatment solution mixed with smoke of the wood-fired bread-oven and the homemade loaves baking within. All of this would have had an ultimately depressing effect, were it not for the beautiful, happy, carefree faces of the diminutive inhabitants. Russ and I were suddenly surrounded by a shirt-pulling, hand-grasping, short-tugging crowd of the most heart-achingly pretty little nippers I’ve ever seen. I make absolutely no criticism of the care provided by the cash-strapped, under-staffed nuns who run the establishment – they do the very best job they can under the circumstances, but are simply under-resourced to give each individual child the love, care and stimulation it needs. All these adorable little mites wanted, was to be loved: a cuddle, a hug – the simple warmth of close, human contact was all they sought. Most were in the care of the orphanage due to the death of one or both parents from diseases like AIDS, hepatitis and tuberculosis…grim, unnecessary deaths – preventable by education or vaccination sadly unavailable in these neglected communities – leaving the children to an even poorer start in life. Russ and I both made donations to the orphanage – mere drops in the ocean when measured against the true need – but both of us have vowed to do something more constructive and sustainable when we’ve returned to our respective countries. We left Kon Tum with the children’s waves and parting smiles making an indelible impression on our minds.
The day’s journey was a rolling vista of mountain scenery and coffee breaks. The weather was nothing short of glorious and the roads, now on the upland plateau, were mainly flat and straight – with the occasional, pleasing, sweeping curve to remind us that the miles were being consumed. We made a pleasant stop at Bien Ho Lake – thought to be the submerged crater of a, now inactive, volcano. The pleasant peaceful surroundings reminded me of the less-populous areas of Britain’s Lake District – an it was easy to see why the place is a popular haunt for courting couples.
On arrival in Buon Ma Thouot – heart of the great coffee plantation region whose coffee bears its name – Russ and I insisted on a pre-dinner snack…three meals a day not being enough for growing lads on exhausting bike trips. We discovered a new form of spring roll (nem) called Nem Luong…these were the ‘roll-your-own’ variety, which came with the usual selection of fresh greens, strips of grilled pork and fried rice paper. This pleasing combination of textures was inevitably complemented by a divine dipping sauce of the sweet-chilli-flavoured variety. The delicious pre-meal disappeared in the twinkling of an eye and it was only the promise of further culinary explorations under Tin and Tong’s expert tutelage that stopped us from ordering seconds.
We certainly weren’t disappointed as our guides took us to another, excellent, back-to-basics street café. Stir fried pork and chicken with lemongrass and coriander, mountains of rice and several bottles of local brew at a risibly cheap cost. A less successful outing to a bar that did nothing to improve my opinion of Asian karaoke, meant that we headed home early enough for me to spend a couple of hours using the first decent internet connection since Hanoi to catch up on a hideous backlog of e-mails from home.