Post-Backpackerism: Followup

Julie, a young Quebecoise currently backpacking around South-East Asia, reacted yesterday to my post titled Post-Backpackerism on this topic of Forum! Le Webzine.

Allow me to trans-quote:

I'm divided. I wouldn't go so far as to call you a snob, because there's a few things you said on which I agree, such as drug abuse, especially in Laos. And I know, you read up on the region before you visited, which is really not the case of all backpackers, I have to say), and you know that the Thai government, for instance, is bending backwards to replace opium farms by 'normal' ones. It's not bright to shoot up with every sort of thing, and not even hide to do it, especially when you can partake of the cheap local beer and help the local economy at the same time... Heh heh!

That being said, I'm divided about your thoughts on frequenting other backpackers... For me, one of the most extraordinary aspect of travel is to meet people from all around the world, and I've met so many who are adorable, nice, with whom I've made close connections and with whom we had deep conversations (which you have to agree is impossible with locals.) I agree, though, that if backpacking cannot happen without getting drunk all the time and that the only contact you have with other travellers is over a joint or a fourth beer, well, that just sucks.

I think I agree with you on that point, because I had moments of total fatigue at being around other backpackers all the time; I just didn't want to see them anymore, much less talk to them. I spent a lot of good times with Thai and Lao monks, and I had dinner in a friend's family sitting on the ground with 15 other people who didn't speak a word of English...

Anyway. My two cents.

Following Julie's post, I spent some time thinking about why I reacted so strongly at walking around Pham Ngu Lao... And why contact with backpackers was a turnoff right now. Thing is, I actually love meeting other travellers from all around the world, and it's often been the highlight of my travels as well. On this trip, for instance, I met a Canadian from B.C. who was going around Vietnam on the back of a motorcycle, and an American who travels 4 months a year and who had interesting stories to share about Thailand and India.

The thing is, these two encounters took place off the beaten path, and not anywhere near a 'backpacker Mecca'. I met both of the aforementioned travellers in a guesthouse near Ben Tre, so when we saw each other we both had a glimmer of recognition: 'Hey there. You're far from home too, are you?'

Why this doesn't work for me in Pham Ngu Lao or Kao San Road, though, is that these places attract backpackers not because it's off the beaten track, but because it specifically caters to them. There, I don't feel adventurous or far from home, I feel a bit cheap for being in a place that was made famous for being accessible.

Part of the reason I have this attitude, obviously, is because I travel with Helene, so I don't feel that much of a need to share my experience with other travellers. There's also the fact that I live in China, so on a day-to-day basis, I find tricks to communicate with people with whom I have no common language. So far, one of my most memorable moments in Vietnam was when Helene and I sat in a very small cafe in Ben Tre, and Helene shared coins from Canada, USA, China and Hong Kong with a young girl who dreamed of studying in Canada. We speak in limited ways, but the glimmer in her eye was unmistakable.

So, in short, it's not that I dislike backpackers. But I tend to dislike spending time in places where things are touristy, even if it's specifically for backpacking tourists, and I don't feel a great amount of kinship for the people there. But meet me off the beaten track, somewhere far from civilization, and you'll find me more than eager to talk and share a drink.

As a post-scriptum to this topic, Helene and I actually moved back to our first hotel this afternoon, a little outside the city center. The hotel is more expensive than the guesthouses in Pham Ngu Lao (although still very reasonable and super-friendly), and already our experience walking down the street feels more geniune. The restaurants are small and cozy, and the staff is curious and friendly. The cyclo, motorcycle and taxi drivers don't harass you, and there are no hawkers pushing photocopies of Lonely Planet. Also, the foreigners are fewer and far between, and when they meet us, they actually wave hello.

As one traveller to another exploring outside the beaten track, I wave back.

The Celine Curse

(With apologies to my dear mother, who is also named Celine... This has nothing to do with her!)

I have a travel-related curse. I hear Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On in every country I visit. Every single one. I'm not kidding.

The first time it happened was the first time I visited a country outside of America. I was sitting with a friend in a restaurant in London, UK, enjoying strange new food from a region of India I didn't know. I feel so far away from home right now, I remember thinking at the time. And then it happened: Celine Dion started singing away about love lasting a lifetime over the radio.

At the time, I thought it was a mere testament to how insanely popular Celine Dion actually is. I made no personal case of it when I heard it in South Korea in 2002, nor when I visited France, Holland, Germany, or Scotland. After all, these are all modern countries, so hearing an international star couldn't be that rare, right?

In 2003, Helene and I visited China for the first time, and we took the train between Shanghai and Beijing. As I was sitting in the train compartment, watching the Chinese countryside zip by in darkness outside, I noticed that the train's radio was playing traditional Chinese music arrangements. And that's when the full horror of the Celine Curse dawned on me: the traditional Chinese music arrangement was actually of, you guessed it... My Heart Will Go On.

I visited Thailand in 2004, and of course I heard it. When I visited Malaysia on a short tour with my colleagues, there it was again. I explained this to my colleagues, who found it very funny. The real test of the Celine Curse was coming up, as we were set to spend one day only in Singapore, a city-state and thus eligible for the Celine Curse.

The radios in Singapore were all playing trendy indy-pop, and it seemed impossible that Celine would wail away about her heart going on in this modern city. On our way to the airport by bus, it felt like the curse had been lifted; there just wasn't enough time left for Celine to show up. And that's just when the tour guide at the front of a bus tried to sell us a lighter with the emblem of Singapore on it, and which, when opened, played... yeah, that's right.

In 2005, I heard it in a restaurant of Kowloon, Hong Kong, thus confirming that cities that are considered part of China but run on a separate administrative system are indeed also elligible for the Curse.

Yesterday, Helene and I sat in a small coffee shop in Saigon, and blasting away on the radio was every pop song coming out of America since the 80's. I felt sure Celine would show up right there, and I actually waited for it with masochistic pleasure. But alas, she didn't show up then.

Then, walking down the street on the way back to our hotel, there it was... That unmistakeable flute dirge that indicates that Celine is about grace me with her voice once more. The flute was a traditional Vietnamese flute, and was being played by a man who was trying to sell, of all things, tickets to use his weight balance.

So there it is... The Celine Curse is alive and well in Vietnam. And much like Murphy's Law, it refuses to work when you expect it, then sneaks up on you and whams you on the head.

Damn you, Celine Dion!!!

Post-Backpackerism

After spending three days outside of Ho Chi Minh City, Helene and I are now stationed in Pham Ngu Lao, the "backpacker central" of Vietnam. It's a stark, and rather unwelcome, contrast to being pleasantly lost in the Mekong Delta. Much like its sister street in Bangkok (Kao San Road), it's a small district packed with foreigners haggling over tacky souvenirs and imitation North Face backpacks, Lonely Planet well in hand.

I find this a bit sad, because I used to think of myself as a backpacker at heart. But seeing Kao San Road in Bangkok, and now Pham Ngu Lao, I realize that this isn't exactly my crowd. For me, backpacking has always been about walking off the beaten track, and living it rough for the sake of an authentic experience. When I see so-called backpackers congregating in the same area where they're getting ripped off in sub-par restaurants and noisy dives, I'm thinking I'm probably not part of this group after all.

When I travel, I like to stay in cheap places not because I want to save money, but because I feel smaller places are more welcoming and closer to the street life. I eat in holes in the wall for the same reason, although I have the money for the more expensive places: even in Shanghai, where I have lived 2 years and a half up to now, the best food has been the cheapest.

Contrary to most backpackers, however, I have no desire to congregate with other travellers. For me, going to a bar in Saigon is the opposite of an immersive travel experience, and seeing that this or that hotel is popular with backpackers is a warning sign to me.

Maybe I'm becoming a travel snob, or maybe I'm just too old for the backpacking circuit... But it seems to me there's a better way to travel than to transform an entire area into a collection of cheap dives and kitch stores, where you can find your dose of cheap marijuana and easy girls.

Speaking of marijuana, there's a sure sign that the backpacking crowd is doing something wrong. At the heart of traveller etiquette, in my mind, is the notion of 'sustainability,' i.e., that you should visit a place without disturbing it. Although that's an ideal and you change the world around you every time you set foot in a new place, it feels to me like every effort should be made to maintain this principle. Now, drugs, even soft ones like pot, are punishable by death in countries like Vietnam and Thailand.

Sure, you might feel that outlawing soft drugs is wrong, and you can justify it using any left-wing sensibility you want. But the truth is, when you visit Thailand and Vietnam, you are guests in a country that is not your own. It's one thing to go there for political activism and to help the local population, but please: don't bullshit me saying you're opening minds by smoking weed there. That's just sustaining your own little vices at the expense of the respect of local laws. That you can now be accosted in Pham Ngu Lao and Kao San Road by locals selling pot is a sad, sad state of affairs.

Anyway; most likely, tomorrow, Helene and I will move back to our previous hotel, a little bit more on the outskirts of downtown Ho Chi Minh City, where the rooms are more expensive but where the Pho is cheap and delicious. I've seen enough white faces for this trip.

Getting Lost in Vietnam

Merry Christmas from Saigon! Helene and I just returned to Ho Chi Minh-City where we intend to spend the last leg of our trip. Vietnam thus far has been an exhilirating, fantastic adventure, and I'm glad we decided to come.

After spending two days in the crazy motorcycle hubub of Ho Chi Minh-City, we decided to go get 'lost' in a small town of the Mekong Delta, by getting as far away from the city as we could on a day trip. We finally ended up in Ben Tre, a small town on the Mekong River, after two hours in a packed local bus, 40 mins of cyclo (a big bicycle with a chair in the front), a 40-minute ferry crossing of the Mekong, and finally a 10 minutes walk to a guesthouse in the middle of a longan orchard. Yep! We're far enough!

Aboard the ferry, Helene and I met Mr. Ngoc, a kind old gentleman who left for Atlanta, USA after the Reunification, but who returns to his hometown of Ben Tre every once and again. He seemed delighted to be able to speak French with us, as he hadn't spoken the language in a long time, having obviously learned it under the French occupation. We ended up visiting his house, where we met his wife, uncle and aunt, and where he regaled us with fresh coconuts and tales of Saigon under American administration. Mr. Ngoc was a deputy in Saigon, and was emprisonned 12 years in Hanoi following the Reunification. In a quaint illustration of Vietnam during the American War, his uncle was fighting on the side of the Communists, and told us how Ben Tre was bombed 24/7 after the Viet-Congs took it back during the Tet Offensive.

After dark, Mr. Ngoc, in a kind gesture, insisted that Helene and I be driven back to our guesthouse by motorcycle, which led to a drive in pitch darkness through sinuous paths in a coconut orchard. Helene had sworn never to get on the back of an 'Honda om', but Mr. Ngoc just wouldn't take no as an answer.

Upon arriving at the guesthouse, I was confronted myself with people not taking no for an answer. The manager of the guesthouse, Phat, insisted that we join his table for a taste of a local delicacy: black king cobra, cooked in a curry sauce, and eaten with bread. I also had to partake of two or three shooters of black king cobra blood, mixed with Vietnamese rice wine. Pretty delicious, all things considered. In return, I offered them a bottle of Mao Tai, a very famous Chinese rice wine, which they seemed to like well enough. And that is how we spent our Christmas Eve!

On Sunday, Helene and I took things easy, but for Monday the 26th, we decided to set out on the Mekong for a little boat adventure. Phat had initially offered to guide us through the short tour, but he had to attend a wedding that day, so he arranged for a boatee to take us around. The man was very kind, and bent over backwards trying to make sure we were having a great time. And a great time we had indeed! We navigated through small, gorgeous canals in his small motorboat, and visited a small coconut candy factory as well as a honey orchard, where we ate fresh banana, dragonfruit, longan, pineapple, and one or two other fruits which I unfortunately forget.

After the fruit feast, we sat down in a small rowboat, and rode around the canals some more. (I am terribly unstable in small boats, so all I could do was sit in the bottom and wait for us to arrive.) We headed out to Phoenix Island, where we were treated to a surreal visit of the remnants of the compound of the "Coconut Monk", a holy man who tried to unify Christianity, Buddhism and Cao Dai. The guide, a young man in his early twenties, was making such a huge effort to please us and explain the genius of the Coconut Monk, that I couldn't help but be touched by this little island. He showed us the animals under his care, which included a few primates, a porcupine, two ostriches, a deer, and a weasel. (He had a peacock, but unfortunately, it had died recently.) He was delighted at our acceptance to show him some English, and I left the island happy at this part of the trip.

Our guide then took us to Turtle Island to watch the sunset over the Mekong Delta from a rickety pier, then he drove the boat to the shore where he captured some fireflies for our enjoyment. We returned to the guesthouse following small canals in total darkness, as the sounds of crickets rose from the banks.

There's a lot more to tell, but I'll do so when I have some pictures to go along. One last thing for now:

On our way back from Ben Tre, the manager of the guesthouse convinced us to take a minibus back into town, and it was a bad mistake. The minibus ended up costing a lot more than the initial price because the driver insisted on charging us for the extra space our backpacks were taking. Then, he stopped 20 minutes short of our destination, in a hangar, and told us to take a motorcycle to get to our next guesthouse. Needless to say, Helene and I were quite pissed off, and ended up paying extra for a taxi ride, after rudely pushing back the crowd of motorcycle drivers who were crowding us badly. The error we made was to pay early during the trip, and not at the end of it; we were most likely lucky he didn't drop us off in the middle of nowhere.

So lesson learned: when travelling in Vietnam, take a boat ride down the Mekong, and screw the damn minibuses.

Saigon for Christmas

Two weeks ago, I realized with a great amount of trepidation that I actually could afford to take a full week off of my current project for Christmas. Moreover, this week actually coincides with Helene's own Christmas vacation. Joy!

So, what to do, what to do... What not to do is definitely to visit Montreal during Christmas time. Sorry, friends, sorry family! I'd love to visit again, but my body has attuned so much to Shanghai weather in the last two years that I consider -5В°C "butt-freezing cold", and 35В°C to be "nice and warm". The prospect of facing -30В°C ranks about as high on my list of favorite Holiday activites as getting a root canal.

So... Helene and I will be headed to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) in the south of Vietnam, instead! We'll simply forget about snow and tourtiГЁre for this year, and instead partake of tropical humidity and raw beef noodle soup!

Hey, they'll be plenty of white Christmases in the future... For the time being, what I want is a sweaty, jungle green Christmas. Friends, family... I will be thinking of you all just the same. Promise.