It all started with the awkward 2 hour train ride, where we ran to the station as the whistle blew and attempted to board the wrong train car 4 times before the station men showed us the way. On the journey we sat across from two unfriendly young ladies, who wished we would stop existing so much that they attempted to believe we did.
There were also four hoodlums next to us who managed to sneak on sans a ticket, and were yelled at at great length by the conductor -- forcing them to pay and then giving them stools to sit on, as they snickered and guffawed. Train traveling characters are fun and understandable even beyond language barriers.
Upon arriving at our stop we were screamed at in Vietnamese by the train man to leave and giggled at in Vietnamese giggles by everyone else, so we were already a bit shaken.
After blinking into perspective the dusty town, we were confronted with the following:
1.) An eerily silent street -- the first silence we'd encountered in Southeast Asia. Not a comforting silence.
2.) All of the dusty street kitchens had signs for: "THIT CHO", or: "DOG MEAT". There were many skittish dogs running frantically from street to street, some with battle wounds.
We weren't in Kansas anymore, Yoshi.
The dog pictured was so adorable, I had to disembark my bicylcle and call him over for a friendly hello. When he screamed and shook in fear, I realized it was safest to leave him with the inclination: "people will eat you. Don't trust them."
After wandering in circles near the train station, we didn't find any non looks-like-they'll-serve-you-as-dog-meat-instead-if-you-aren't-careful guesthouses. Finally we found the main highway that cuts through the town on the way to Hanoi. We found the familiar honking once more. Sweet, sweet honking. At least it stopped being so unnaturally quiet.
We crossed over the highway and found the more bustling aspect of the city -- piles of litter and store upon store of folks that would stare you down to size as you walked by. Finally we found creepy upscale Thuy An Hotel. We rented bicycles and defied death down the highway to the village limestone cliffs and caves: "Tam Coc". There was an eerie blanket of thick Stephen King Fog settled over the entire village. Really. Really.
We biked to many icy stares from the few villagers in their front yards or on passing bicycles. Although, before we got to the center of the village, it was mostly silent and deserted.
We biked past the market, where goats and dogs were brought on the backs of motorbikes for slaughter. Eventually we made it to the end of the road, where there was a (once again eerie) temple on top of a mountain.
At the top of the mountain were amazing views, and a toothless man who gave me incense to present to Buddha and then hit me and made the universal sign for "money" (the rubbing of the thumb with the fingers, you know the one). I shook in my boots and gave him a dollar, to which he laughed maniacally whilst sniffing it and rubbing it on his face just to give me the willies.
Our second day, we rented our trusty bicycles, first asking: "Any chance you have any helmets we could rent along with these?" The man laughed at our silly fear.
We survived the road insanity once again and made our way to the infamous Tam Coc boat trip through the rice paddies. We payed admission, as well as a bike parking fee.
At the loading station, there was a chained monkey who disliked it there far more than we did. The neighborhood kids threw things at him which he hissed at in his misery, to the laughter of the adults.
The boat trip itself was a bit uncomfortable. Our rowing man insulted us in Vietnamese to the many other rowers (we knew from the pointing and laughter aimed in our direction.) Also, halfway through the journey (as happens to everyone who buys a boat) a woman hopped into our boat and made sneaky jokes with our rowing man. We were rowed to a boat full of snacks and beer and told, "you MUST buy your rowing man beer, for tip. Is Vietnamese culture. Must." So we sheepishly did. Then, our new female companion began to violently tap us both (as we attempted to take in the magnificent views) to show us her hand made items we "must buy." Since we "have much money!" After politely declining and being hit dozens more times to be shown the same options with no end in sight, we attempted to ignore their insults and pointy fingers. Before it could be over and we would be taken back to shore, we were told "You must give us tip! Two! One for each!" To which we reminded, "We bought the beer!" "No! More tip!" Eventually, they freed us. We apologized to the monkey for his hideous fate and bid him adieu.
We had hoped to bike back before sundown with our unprotected heads on the treacherous roads... but we were fated to journey through the village as the sky grew dark and life more ominous than ever before. When we finally reached the city area and the headlights lit our way a bit, we realized headlights don't help you see when they're coming straight for you from every direction. We turned down a back road, and I was quickly chased after and yelled at for riding my bike through fresh, wet concrete. I think the man attempted to throw me off my bike as punishment, but I remembered I had a worrying Mama back at home to think of and so peddled as if there were no tomorrow (which it seemed there may not be).
That night, we got the hell out of dodge and hopped on our first "sleeper bus" south. Our first of many...
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