Câu chuyện của một người khách du lịch Hà Nội
Tuesday, February 17, 2004

(Cái mẩu chuyện này nhắc cho tôi nhớ đến lần du lịch về VN cách đây không lâu. Cái bệnh tiêu chảy nó đeo theo tôi về đến Mỹ, phải nằm nhà dưởng bệnh gần một tuần, sụt mất hơn 10 pounds. Nhớ đến vẫn còn sợ hải.)


Unfortunately, near-misses and horror make for the strongest travel memories. Like the time I thought I might die in Vietnam. Long, disgusting story short, in Hanoi last year, I caught something which turned out not to be just food poisoning and didn't just go away by next morning. Using the combined powers of optimism, ignorance, and an overwhelming need to escape the noise and stench of downtown, I hobbled aboard an overnight train bound north for Sa Pa, near the Chinese border.

The longer version. I didn't like Hanoi, and I felt guilty about it, and boarding that train let me leave my dislike and my guilt behind. I respect Hanoi, no doubt. The city has been continuously occupied for over 1000 recorded years. In the center is a beautiful lake with many legends, scattered throughout is a lovely and curious mixture of French and traditional Vietnamese architecture, and its streets pulse with life the strength of which I'd never seen before. It also holds the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh, another story altogether, perhaps for later. I regard travel as a privelege and good fortune, and I appreciated the opportunity of going to Hanoi. All the same, I hated being there.

The Lonely Planet Guide on Vietnam: "Basically there's only one road rule: Small yields to big, or else. Traffic cops are often there to be paid off. Vehicles drive on the right-hand side of the road (usually). Spectacular accidents are frequent."

My old journal on Hanoi: "It makes me want to stand on a corner and yell, 'Oh, for f***'s sake!' I want to swing over the top of it from vine to vine. The traffic is the lost 8th wonder of the world... It's a nightmare of honking, yelling, smoke, and aggressive salespeople of everything. Even the tourists are rude. But maybe I'll like it better tomorrow."

Shortly after dinner in a cheap downtown cafe, I started to feel a bit strange. By the time I reached the block of my hotel, I was staggering down the sidewalk doubled-over in pain. I spent the rest of that night sick in the bathroom, and missed a planned daytrip to the Perfume Pagoda the next morning. I needed to recover quickly -- we had booked a trek in Sa Pa for later in the week, so I rented a $2 bed in a dorm to spend a couple days in while my friend explored Hanoi. The next evening, I boarded the train for Sa Pa, expecting to feel better at any moment.

Lao Cai was the train's final stop, and where everyone and our enormous backpacks deboarded before getting into vans or buses bound for Sa Pa. I crawled down exhausted and sleepless from my bunk and stepped into the crowded aisle towards the door. I had spent most of that night in the Trainspotting-filthy bathroom of the sleeper car. A few steps into the aisle, in the smothering line of backpackers, four of my senses suddenly went blank all at once. There was nothing else I could do in that crowd, so I felt my way along the narrow walls and out the door, and luckily my senses returned just in time to guide me down the stairs to the platform. I took a few cautious steps out and looked for my friend,... and suddenly there he was, standing above me, with maybe a dozen other people, on the train tracks. I had fainted and fallen off the platform, face-down onto the rocks beneath the train.

It was too perplexing a question at that moment why I should be fainting off of platforms, so instead the small crowd turned attention to my knee, which was rather bloody. My friend and the two actors who had shared our compartment gathered me up and carried my backpack to the minivan that was to carry us two hours further north. I limped to the station bathroom and paid 500 dong to an attendant, and splashed cold water from a bucket and ladle over my face and bloody knee -- there was no running tap. I settled grimacing into a hard-seated, cushionless minivan ride, one damp rolled-up pants leg sticking out from under the backpack where I nestled for warmth. I was miserable, and scared, and nauseous, and definitely not getting any better.

At the hotel, our guide phoned the tour company and arranged to transfer my trek money into room and board. I was disappointed, but protest was absurd. Our trek involved several days hiking over steep terrain. My knee was swollen and purple and could barely help me up the shallow stairs. I accepted the hotel room and dragged myself hand-over-hand up the railing to my room, one leg trailing stiffly behind. I had not been able to eat or drink anything in days.

My friend was worried and torn, and I told him to go on the trek. I didn't want him to miss this, it was one of the things we had most looked forward to in all of our 6-week trip, and frankly it's awkward to have someone around when you're constantly vomiting anyway. He left his supply of powdered rehydrating solution in case I should ever regain the power to drink liquid, and at the last moment, his Walkman, and I crawled into the bed nearest the bathroom, where I stayed for the next three or so days.

With all the trekkers gone, the hotel was silent. Silent as a tomb, one does not care to think when one is quite that sick, and yet still does. Three times a day, hotel staff would quietly slip a meal ticket for the adjacent restaurant under my door, but I was only just improving my odds with plain water, and didn't risk it. After a couple days, they started to worry, and brought me a tray. When I caught myself mentally writing a will, I decided to call my travel insurance company.

It took me several tries to demystify the phone at my bedside, but I finally placed the toll free call to America. I briefly explained my situation to the agent, and realized there was much more about my situation I simply could not explain, not to her.

"It's OK," she assured me in a Midwestern accent, "Now just go the hospital, and have your doctor email us, and we'll take it from there."

"Uh, I'm in Sa Pa. North Vietnam, near the Chinese border. There are no hospitals here, I already asked the hotel staff."

"OK, well a doctor's clinic is fine too --"

"No doctors. No email."

"No --? Well, whatever. Tell the doctor, fax is fine too, now --"

"No email, no faxes, no hospitals, no doctors. People just go to the pharmacist here and tell him what they want. I'm not sure you understand -- look, it's very primitive."

"Ha ha, primitive. Yes, I understand, look I'm in Wisconsin. Now just --"

I kind of lost it here. "No, no. Primitive! Village in northern Vietnam primitive, Chinese border primitive, not Wisconsin primitive. I'm not talking 56K dial-up primitive. I'm talking-- you don't-- look, I can see live water buffalo right now. I'm downtown."

I finally gave up on the insurance agent, feebly clawed open a packet of powdered rehydrating solution, and prepared myself to die in my hotel room on that water buffalo-filled north Vietnamese lane if it came to that. I telepathed a loving message to my mother, grasped for the remote, and found Vietnamese television to be fascinating. (Không biết tác giả)

-- Bỏ4 (CSonSale@yahoo.com), October 22, 2004

Answers

Dear stupid people -the author of topic above & the freak Bo4. Do you prefer to have Mc donald & cafe sua da in the middle of Amazon river (Bazil).? Learn to have mud water for drink , and crocodile meat for meal.

-- chi-bua (mingo@netscape.net), October 22, 2004.

cam-on chu Bo4 voi tam hinh doc dao nhieu mui-vi.

Khai trien y nghia tam -hinh ,

Neu Cong San huan luyen cho cac tu cai-tao ( tren duoi vai tram ngan chu , dit -me , sao ma dong the!) an bo-bo , thi moi nguoi se quen an bo-bo.

Neu Cong San huan luyen cho cac chu tu cai -tao an cut chay con-nit ( nhu hinh tren ) thi cac chu tu cai-tao di nhien se quen an cut . [ khoa hoc cung kham -pha ra cut con-nit co nhieu vitamin !].

Anh nghi rang chu Bo 4 da chui -xeo cac cuu tu cai-tao VN cong -tru . [ hoac nhac -nho cac chu cuu-tu !]

Vi anh kem may man chua duoc thuong thuc nhung man doc dao cua tu cai-tao , anyway ,cam-on chu Bo 4[ merci bu-cu ! ]

-- chi-bua (mingo@netscape.net), October 23, 2004.

cam-on chu Bo4 voi tam hinh doc dao nhieu mui-vi. Khai trien y nghia tam -hinh ,

Neu Cong San huan luyen cho cac "cộng nô như Chí Bựa" ( tren duoi vài trăm ngàn chú , dit -me , sao ma dong the!) an thai nhi và tiết canh tháng , thi tất cả bọn CHXHCN se quen thai nhi và tiết canh tháng mà không thấy dơ và bẩn .

Neu Cong San huan luyen cho cac chu "cán nhi đồng" an cut chay con- nit ( nhu hinh tren ) thi cac chu "cán nhi đồng" di nhien se quen an cut và sự thực bây giờ chúng đã quen rồi. [ khoa hoc cung kham -pha ra cut con-nit co nhieu vitamin chỉ thua thai nhi nên thai nhi chỉ dành cho những tên có thành tích sát hại đồng bào !].

Mọi người nghi rang chu Bo 4 da chui -xeo cac các bọn sán lãi cộng sản . [ hoac nhac -nho cac chu Cháu Hồ Xạo Hết Chỗ Nói !]

Tôi may man không thuong thuc nhung man doc dao cua CHXHCN , anyway ,cam-on chu Bo 4[ merci bóp-cu Chí Bựa ! ]

-- thich du thu (toollovers@comcast.net), October 23, 2004.