After covering the whispering eye candy on display in Tam Coc, we motored down to Hue on the night bus, fully clothed and ready to explore the ancient capital of Vietnam. We arrived bleary eyed and in desperate need of love, appreciation and acceptance. But with very limited opportunities to get all of those on an early morning in an unfamiliar Vietnamese city, our reasonable needs had to be put on hold. Deciding that food was the temporary solution to the emptiness in our hearts (and stomachs), we sought it out immediately.
We walked for a few minutes with the idea that that we could wallow in the bitter coffee aromas of a café for the morning, lounging there until check-in time grew closer. However, the surprisingly crisp Vietnamese morning air carried bewitching scents that played out like a symphony on the gentle breeze and soon our café plans had disintegrated. Following our noses, we ended up at a tiny noodle cart down an alley. We soon dropped our big bags, pulled up the classic plastic stools (that even a child would find uncomfortably small) and set about demolishing some noodles. The old man and lady that ran the place spoke no English but they welcomed us like we had just entered their home and tried to talk with us nevertheless. Their friendliness caught us slightly off-guard, but we soon recognised their sincerity. They were so proud of their stall and smiled ear to ear knowing that we enjoyed their food. The bowl of spicy, soupy noodles I received was without a doubt the freshest meal I have ever had, it was light, clean and ridiculously tasty. When I stood up to pay (my skeleton creaking from the unwieldy shapes it had been contorted into) the lady only asked for 30p. Thirty pence for a delicious bowl of noodles?? Now, what would be the sense in leaving such a fine establishment/cart and only paying the lovely people 30p? So, out of appreciation and ravenous hunger I ordered another bowl. The warmth of their hospitality, and indeed the taste of their noodles, had brightened my day immediately.
Learning stuff and smelling rough
We dropped our bags at the hostel and, after chugging an unhealthy amount of water, we set out for the Imperial city.
Wading through the throngs of Chinese tourist groups and bursting through the old walls with a vigour that the 1960s American army could only dream of, we started our zigzagging, almost aimless self-guided tour of the complex. Filled with temples, pavilions and residences, the architecture (dating back hundreds of years) was beautiful, if a little over-restored. With every turn through an ornately decorated gate the sun grew stronger and soon the restorative powers of the breakfast noodles began to fade. With the shade of the temples not doing enough to cool us down, we sought out the hum of every enormous fan that were often housed in the temples for employees. Stood in the blasting breeze of a fan we lost sight of how uncomfortably close we were standing to the employees, but seeing the bloodshot, heat-crazed look in our eyes they were probably too terrified to stop us.
Having completed three quarters of the Imperial city, I was starting to feel a little nauseous and unenthused for more exhibits. As Brendan read, I walked beside him deliriously, the beads of sweat on my brow glinting like an array of diamonds in the sun. After each saline drop had its brief moment of brilliance, uninterrupted by the harsh reality of its true being, it inevitably succumbed to gravity and rolled down to contribute to the sodden rag clinging to my body.
Deciding that I had had enough, I waited for Brendan to look around an exhibit and tried not to be violently sick. Feeling about an inch away from my demise, Brendan turned up, I swatted the last squadron of voracious mosquitos away and we got moving.
We were in desperate need of a drink and deciding to buck the trend of Vietnam so far, it was going to be non-alcoholic. A banana lassi was what we needed and we were on a mission to find it. Luckily, as soon as we crossed the fetid moot surrounding the Imperial city we found a nice looking café and sat down. Brendan grabbed a hefty Banh Minh and we both got a lassi. That drink was the best thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of sipping.
- Ice cold
- Enormous
- Fresh bananas
- Thick and creamy
- A little Cinnamon / nutmeg
I would do unspeakably terrible things to a whole host of people just to drink one of those bananary beauties again. Now, does that make me a bad person? Yes, of course. But if you tried one tiny little sip of that lassi you’d tumble into a world devoid of complexity too. You would have only one purpose, one solitary itch that needs to be scratched at any cost. You would hunt for that intoxicating lassi pleasure for the rest of your days, never to feel whole again except for those few moments the lassi touches your lips. In a way, it’s the most tragic love story of them all.
The lassi kept the tide of illness at bay for a while, but on returning to the hostel the cracks in my defences finally gave way to the deluge. My body let loose a volley of bodily fluids which surprised me with both their volume and ferocity but after ridding myself of whatever my body was not keen on keeping hold of I felt better, so we left for dinner.
We smashed a healthy dose of incredible spring rolls and on the way home I discovered something so revolutionary that it would change my life forever. So, I wanted a Snickers for dessert. Snickers had fuelled many endeavours for the last few months such as a breath-taking ramble in the Pamir mountains or a long hot cycle on Lanyu island, but when I came to get my snickers this time I found out that the shopkeeper kept them in the freezer. They weren’t snickers ice-creams (which are also incredibly good) they were just normal (albeit frozen solid) snickers chocolate bars. I tentatively bought myself one, unhappy with the frozen brown baton I was clutching, I was quickly slumping into a state of despair. However, about half way through, it struck me that this rock-hard brick of chocolate, caramel and nuts was glorious. A refreshing masterpiece of dental destruction.
Free Willy
After a night where the mysterious illness continued to wreak havoc, I awoke not feeling particularly motivated. However, really not wanting to miss out on today’s plans I told myself I would be ok and we set off. We were heading to a large abandoned waterpark (Ho Thuy Tien) and we didn’t really know what to expect. We bribed the guard 10,000 dong (30p) at the entrance like the internet had instructed us to do and entered the park via a dirt track through some woodland.
Emerging from the woods we were faced with an empty lake which held at its centre the aquarium. The design of the aquarium was an enormous three-storey oriental style dragon sat atop a blue dome, and as we approached, under the brooding skies, the dragon grew ever more imposing. Once across the bridge and inside, the dilapidated state of the attraction became much more evident. Broken glass from the tanks littered the floors and graffiti was scrawled on every wall. As we moved through the cavernous halls of the dragon’s body, we wound our way up to the top of the structure which had views of the barren lake.
Moving on we took a trail through the woods until we came across the most strangely mesmerising part of the waterpark. Waterslides wound their way through the jungle which, no longer under the watchful eye of people, had erupted into a frenzy of growth. The once colourful plastic tubes, that were now covered in dirt, constricted the trees like giant snakes. They no longer ran water through their hollow insides, no screams of joy could be heard echoing through them and at their end, the splash zone was nothing more than an extremely uninviting pool of stagnant water. Skirting the filthy waters, we crossed from one pool to the next, feeling fully immersed in a dystopian scene. The children’s playground, semi submerged in thick organic sludge and fragmenting from the weight on its rusted joints, was especially post-apocalyptic.
Continuing our circumnavigation of the lake, we came across a simulator with a completely unsafe amount of sheared off metal. Naturally, I thought climbing into the simulator was a good idea and I sat in there bewildered at how such an expensive bit of kit had just been left here to decay. Only 50 metres away was an amphitheatre which was covered in graffiti and once again the significance of the space, once designed to house exuberant visitors, was turned on its head by the quiet emptiness which seemed to fill the area with solemnity.
I began feeling dodgy once again so we saw a few other little bits and bobs and headed back to grab our taxi to the hostel. It began raining as soon as we reached the exit so we hopped in the car and sped off. The short ride back to Hue should’ve been a dreamy little cruise however, it felt like a lifetime for me as I tried desperately not to poo myself.
Final thoughts
Well, I’m not sure how many blogs out there end with the imagery of a fully-grown man pooing himself but here we are. I can assure you that no leather car seats or personal clothing items were soiled in the making of this blog.
Apart from being awfully ill for almost our entire stay in the city I enjoyed my return to Hue. The Imperial city is an unmissable treasure trove of Vietnamese history and architecture, while the waterpark provided a transfixing step outside of normality. Hue won’t be the most memorable part of Vietnam for us but the riverside city was definitely a worthwhile stop that provided me with delicious simple food and a new-found respect for babies. Incontinence is no joke y’all.
