5. Entering the Middle Kingdom

It’s since been a little over two months since my last update as I took a small hiatus from the writing - partly diving headlong into the experience of travel, partly procrastination, and partly writer’s block.

With that being said — the show must go on! Where were we? Ah yes.. Vietnam.

Obama Set Meal

9th June — The next few days in Hanoi were dedicated to a casual exploration of what the city had to offer. Halong Bay was a well worn tourist destination that we’d opted to skip, having been there before. This time around, we’d opted instead to visit the Vietnamese women’s museum.

Here was a building reminding us of the myriad roles Vietnamese women undertook, capturing their strength, their tenacity, and their grace within society.

Inside, sizable exhibits detailed how the women dressed (marriage regalia through the ages), worked (the liberation of women from their traditional gender assigned roles), and functioned (case studies of female leaders and playmakers within society) — of particular interest was a gallery consisting of video clips showcasing the sufferings of the women peddlers on the street and the hardships that they’ve endured for the sake of their children. The same video was contrasted right alongside a successful businesswoman who had clawed her way up to the top.

It was the perfect place to go if you ever felt that you’ve had it hard as a male (no pun intended).

After being thoroughly gender-shamed, we then paid a visit to Bún chả Hương Liên, a place made tremendously famous by President Obama’s meal with Anthony Bourdain. Being wary of a potential crowd, we’d opted to visit in between lunch and dinner — a gamble that paid off when we were ushered in immediately.

We were brought to the very same area that both celebrities had their beer in, albeit with the tables set differently that day. A photograph of Mr Barack and Mr Bourdain was prominently on display on one side of the wall, and on the other, a sign that read “Obama set meal” to capitalize on the frenzy.

The verdict? It was as good as the other Bun Cha’s that we‘ve had in Vietnam - not that much better. The fried crispy spring roll, though, was a delight to consume.

We adjourned back to ours, with a full belly and a rested spirit.

The Hanoi Hilton

10th June — Today was the day we’d board a train bound for the Middle Kingdom a.k.a. Land of a Billion people a.k.a. China. It would also be the first time that we’d be entering a place in which a visa would be required- but first, we’d pay a visit to the Vietnamese prison.

Hỏa Lò Prison was a place where the American soldiers were kept away during the Vietnam war, and ironically also known as the “Hanoi Hilton” by its captives.

While only the gatehouse remains standing today, the prison-museum was anything but small. Behind it’s yolk yellow walls, restored and touched up with various informational plaques (including the actual flight suit of Senator John McCain in a glass cabinet), you’d almost forget that this was a place where people were denied their freedoms and tortured for the part of the war. The materials within the museum painted a picture of comfort, where POWs were able to play sports, chess, and even celebrate Christmas.

I would recommend a visit here, if only to draw your own conclusions on war and its treatment of prisoners, as well as the resulting “History is written by the victors” material that is on display.

Tip: If you are planning to visit several museums here, check with the locals if there are any group deals. In our case, we’d only found out that the Women’s International Museum had discounted rates IF you’d visited the Hỏa Lò prison beforehand!

Gia Lam, Dong Dang, and Immigration

After the sobering visit, we headed back to pack for the trip into greater Asia. Our train would depart at 940PM from Ga Gia Lam, a station northeast of Hanoi’s main Railway track that only has a single trip — a 610KM rail into China. Carriages here run on Standard gauge rails (1.43m wide), as opposed to all other trains served in Hanoi (1.0m wide gauge rails).

We arrived at the station via Uber, the weight of our packs gripping our shoulders once more. The sight that greeted us was of many Chinese nationals on their way back home— it felt like we were already there!

This was to be the exit out of South East Asia, and my nerves were acting up. What if we were denied entry for any reason and were left at the border? What if we were detained? The uncertainty was both exhilarating and terrifying (spoiler alert: we make it).

We walk into the waiting lounge at Gia Lam (I use the term ‘lounge’ loosely) with plenty of other passengers, our backpacks sticking out like sore thumbs amongst the usual black-and-grey square luggage. The atmosphere is of boredom, smoke, and playing cards. We find a safe space to sit, and sweat out the minutes.

Soon the departure doors open, and men begin yelling out words I could not decipher. The room stands — it is time to board. As we walk into the moist air, I mull if it would be the last time in a long time that the air would feel as thick or as humid on my face. Michelle moves ahead while I try to grab a quick photograph, which turns out blurry. Grumbling to myself, I hurry up to her and we find our car. The conductors standing outside replace our tickets with cards, and nonchalantly motion us to board.

Compared to the Saigon-Hanoi train, the Hanoi to Nanning express is wider, and the sheets seemingly cleaner. Our cabin mates were two people from mainland China who were already lying in their bunks. I explained in my rudimentary mandarin that we were headed to Guilin — smiles and nods filled in what words could not convey, and we settled in the cabin. No sooner had we boarded, the train started chugging and tooting it’s horn, ever so frequently as it made its way to the border.

Though this train was air conditioned, there were plenty of flying, bloodsucking vermin in the carriage to keep us physically active. Between the 4 of us, I would count at least 9 of the little buggers that met their untimely demise (I only managed 1).

Without the ability to carry good conversation with our cabin mates, we exchange looks and lie in the cabin, left to our own thoughts.

11th June — It was 2 am when the train pulled up at the border of Vietnam — a station called Dong Dang. I kid you not!

Almost immediately, we are ushered off the carriages and herded into Vietnamese Immigration.

I take a view of our surroundings, as the weary passengers form a sleepy line outside the building. All around, there is nothing but the train, the platform, and forest. Just inside, an X-Ray machine visibly bolted into the floor, encased within a glass compartment. Behind the machine is a guard, eyes peering behind a solid block of concrete with a small rectangular cut-out.

There are other roaming officers, uniformed and ranked appropriately; solemnly directing the human swarm towards the X-Ray first, and then the visa counter for stamping out.

As we waited, a peculiar pattern began to emerge. Some of the officers were picking Caucasians out of the queue and asking them to sit, their passports were taken off their person. Alarm turned to suspicion, turned to realization; when shortly after; those same foreigners were promptly ushered out and back into the train without having to linger on in the queue. It appeared that only the Chinese had to queue for an on-location visa.

The mission now was to get the Immigration officers attention by looking Caucasian (or non-Chinese)- easier said than done. I try to subtly make eye contact with the patrolling uniformed guards. Exactly three glances later and zero interference from Immigration, I concluded a different approach was needed lest the male attendants took my batting of eyelashes for a different kind of proposal.

Michelle had already clued in on it — she was displaying her passport whenever the guard would look in our general direction. I emulate her, and catch the very same man who had looked mildly confused on a previous “eye-meet”. I could see the look of relief wash over his face as my intention was clarified and he quickly approached us.

We are given express treatment to the chagrin of the other passengers, and swiftly make our way back into the comfort of the carriage. It would be another hour before the train would be able to move onward towards the Chinese border, and another hour more for the train to cross into the Middle Kingdom for the Chinese portion of Immigration.

As we entered China, I remember thinking to myself, “This is it. We’re officially out of South East Asia, leaving our friends and family behind- no turning back now.” I peek out the window to attempt to see the countryside, greeted by the solemn black curtain of night. We hoist our packs once more as the train comes to a stop.

Michelle was one of the first ones off our carriage- by the time i got off, I could only make out a backpack moving quickly towards the counter.

At the China side, both the police and the army staff were present — we were to open bags for inspection by the army, get stamped by the police, and subsequently get our luggage through the X-Ray by both combined forces. The exit doors were under lock and key — No one was allowed to board the train until ALL passengers were processed. A glimpse of things to come, perhaps?

By the time we were back on the train, the sun had begun its routine, spreading light across the fields. It was 6 am — 4 more hours before we we due to arrive in Nanning.

We take what sleep we can, readying ourselves to enter a country with almost zero language capacity, and no Google/Facebook.

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