Tallest White Boy In Hanoi

Portraits and candids of the people.

The Mekong Delta is a gritty, dusty part of Vietnam. The region is defined by it’s grey (sky), brown (river) and green (plants). It has bustling cities and quiet countryside that blur together with the help of it’s enchanting canals that echo with the sound motorboats, chop-chop-choping like motorcycles.

I’d seen one floating market at Cai Be, and was unimpressed. The “floating market” was a tourist trap with 10 boats -- at most. I came away feeling I’d wasted time and money.

But the floating market at Cai Rang was a different story. Filled with hundreds of boats, the market had numerous products from people who had travelled from all over the Mekong. You’ll see a few boats have bamboo poles coming off the bow of their boat. Those display the products that the boat is selling -- bamboo-flag-pole marketing.

By then end of the tour, I had reorganized my thoughts about floating markets. They were certainly modernized. All the boats were motorized, and the people within them would post up in hammocks and peruse the internet on their smart phones. And it was still something of a tourist trap, as pirate-esque smaller boats would hitch onto our tour boat and they would try to sell coffee, coconuts and pineapples. Still, the market was incredibly charming and the romanticism of a water-based market was not lost on me (an asian market nerd).

They are all about their dried fish in Vietnam ... and while I was there, I got into it, too. I tried some dried squid. 

Phu Quoc boasted the most amazing fresh seafood market I’d ever seen. Joined by Dutch and German couples, I pointed at some seafood, which the waitress proceeded to place on a grill. 

On the third day of the Mekong trip, I made it to Phu Quoc Island. I had to sad-puppy-dog face my way onto the ferry, after finding that tickets were sold out. After patience, persistence, and a small miracle, I haggled and bribed my motorcycle onto the ferry and found my seat in the VIP section. 

Before I knew it, I was sitting at the beachside resort, drinking Saigon Green beer, eating fresh mango, and enjoying the sunset.

I spent two(/three) days and two nights in Vinh Long. It was my first stop on the Mekong motorbike trip. The first night was in the city, where I was the only foreigner, stumbling and bumbling my way through the market and riverside cafes.

The second night, I stayed at a home stay on An Binh island, just across from Vinh Long by ferry. These pictures are from that island, which was populated with some beautiful homes that seemed to be architectural leftovers from the French colonies.

I also spent an afternoon drinking and eating with a family, which I stumbled upon during a long bicycle ride one afternoon. I was cruising down a dirt path when a man stuck his head out and asked, “Do you want to drink beer?”

I had just been thinking that was exactly what I wanted. 

So, I walked down to his house, where his brothers and father were drinking and eating. We hung out for an hour, during which my bowl of food and my cup of beer was always full -- that was, until the guy made me chug the whole thing, which happened a few times.

After Saigon, I took to a motorbike and travelled around the Mekong Delta. Here’s a picture of the different traffic patterns, which could get pretty insane — Vietnam has a motorbike infestation. I also had a few bike breakdowns, during which I was regularly hustled.

In one instance, my bike broke down in the middle of nowhere — or so I thought. I pulled off the road to get some help. An old man called his friend, who was a mechanic. We put my bike in neutral, and still sitting on his bike, he pushed me back his shop with one leg on my motorbike.

Then, his magic trick began — an exercise of slight of hand. 

He took the bike apart, babbling in Vietnamese, and gesticulating at parts that “needed” replacing. When he had my approval, he took off to get the parts, and replaced them upon his return. He finished by adding a little gas to my bike. Then, he wrote down the bill: $20. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but for context, the other repairs cost between $2-3 USD. This was 10x that amount which, when translated to Vietnamese currency, was a huge difference.

I knew I was getting hustled, but couldn’t figure out at what step he’d hustled me. We argued about the price, and he wouldn’t relent.

“You pay me money,” he said. At a certain point, Vietnamese men forgot all other English words they had once known, and they said nothing but this phrase. Finally, after threatening to remove the parts — which in hindsight I should have let him do — I paid him and got on my way.

The next day, my bike broke down in the same way. Instead of rushing off to shop, I sat down at a coffee place, and took a deep breath. A guy at the coffee shop had seen the break down, and when we both finished our coffee, he looked at my bike and said one word: “petrol.”

It was all I needed the whole time. Gas. My gas gauge was broken — it read half full, but the tank was empty.

It was the perfect storm of mismanaged expectations. The Swedes I met earlier joked hat they could make the entire trip from Hue to Ho Chi Minh City on one tank of gas, so I expected incredible longevity for my tank. And everyone had said, “your bike’s going to break down.” As a result, I thought my gas tank would last forever and that every problem was mechanical — which was wrong.

When the mechanic had opened up my bike and made a scene fixing it, he was performing his “magic trick.” His quick pour of gasoline at the very end was the artful slight of hand. He never let me see the tank was empty, which led me to believe I “needed” the parts. I presume they were the most expensive parts on the market.

I filled up gas. Laughed at myself. And did my best to forget about it. $20 was worth the story.

A side note on the bottom right photo: Ho Chi Minh (the former head of Vietnam’s communist, after whom Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) was named) has the same initials as I do. During my return to HCMC, all I had to do was follow my initials.

I met Rico and Frank during my tour of Ha Long Bay. They're a pair of badass Swedes that bought motorbikes, then had them custom painted to look like communist military bikes, because of course.

I took a cooking class and, yup, I cooked these things.*

The market in Hoi An -- particularly early in the morning -- is a sensory overload. The smell of the fish; the colors of the fruits; the thud of a woman butchering meat.

I heard some criticism about Hoi An before I got there. But I was pretty siked about it.

Good food? Check

Good coffee? Check