Eating Vietnam Out of House and Home

If there’s one thing I could say about our month in Vietnam, it’s that it was one tasty month. While we normally grow weary of a country’s cuisine by the end of our time there, I could have kept eating Vietnamese even after we left, and mentioned to Sean I had a hankering for spring rolls after we passed a Vietnamese restaurant in a Bangkok mall.

Thanks to Tram’s Kitchen in Bloomfield at home, we’d already sampled Vietnamese food before this trip, so we were eagerly awaiting to try some tasty eats in Vietnam itself (on eight inch stools, of course). Beginning meals in the Mekong Delta were disappointing – here’s a tip; don’t order Pho All because the all is quite scary, indeed – but things improved quickly.  Each region has its specialties, so there’s more nuanced variety than you first realize.  Here’s some of our favorites (not to mention the runners up of stir-fried cactus at fresh veggie-centric and beautiful Cuc Gach Quan in Saigon; cao lau noodles and white rose dumplings in Hoi An; any of the delicious things My and Mr. Pepperman had us try in the Central Highlands; any sort of street-made dumpling or bun cha in Hanoi; and the many tastings of chicken stir-fried with chili and lemongrass countrywide):

Fresh spring rolls

Without a doubt, our favorite meals are fresh spring rolls. Surprisingly, these can be hard to find – probably because I wanted them with every meal. The pre-rolled ones were tasty – especially if they are being rolled right next to you seconds before you eat them, like ones we had at a market in Saigon – but there’s something about rolling them yourself. Our first encounter was at the market in Dalat. (Are you noticing a theme? The best food is at Vietnamese markets.) We hovered near a food stall, trying to figure out what the heck they were serving as everything was in Vietnamese. A kind woman took pity on us and come over from where she was sitting at a different restaurant. She suggested that we try the spring rolls being served at the stall in which we were standing by since they were the best in town. With that ringing endorsement, we gratefully let her run interference between us and the women behind the stall, who only spoke Vietnamese. When you’re at a make your own spring roll place, you receive rice paper for rolling, spicy peanut sauce for dipping, and lots of fixins’ for stuffing: rice noodles; pork prepared multiple ways; lettuce; mounds of fresh mint, basil, and other herbs; and raw banana, starfruit, cucumbers, and fried rice paper for crunch. Words can’t describe how fresh, how tasty, how crunchy, how tangy fresh spring rolls are in Vietnam. When our Easy Rider guides took us to a fresh spring roll restaurant on our second night at Buon Mi Thiout, I nearly died of happiness.

Ready to roll in Dalat

This Buon Mi Thiout restuarant's specialty is the hot peanut sauce accompaniment, seen in the right hand corner.

At the Ben Thanh market in Saigon, I was inches away from this women while she rolled up our order. Don't be afraid of the Spring Roll Nazi woman who patrols around you while you eat.

Fried spring rolls

While the fresh ones beat the fried ones by a landslide, I was a fan of the fried ones as well, especially those fried with a light touch, like the ones at Madame Foung’s place in Hoi An. Madame’s restaurant is called the Light Candle. If she’s not in the back cooking, she’ll call out to you like all of the other vendors in Hoi An. But if you come in, unlike some others, she’s be really, truly glad you came. We half-ignored Madame Fuong one afternoon as she was one of many voices calling out for us to buy something or come inside. But then when we couldn’t find the restaurant we were looking for, we turned around and decided to try the Light Candle. Madame came rushing over to us, and exclaimed, with genuine joy and enthusiasm, Oh! You came back! You came back! We would have returned just for Madame’s cheerful demeanor (even though she only speaks a few words of English), but her food matched her attitude. The Candle Light spring rolls, as she calls them, are sublime. If you go, try them; she’ll make you order them anyway. You’ll be glad you did.

Candle Light spring rolls at the Light Candle

Sean and Madame Foung

Pho

Once we recovered from the Pho All debacle, we become pho addicts. Not all phos are created equal; some are just too rich for our liking, but most have a delightful blend of meat stock (created by bubbling overnight in a giant pot), tender beef or chicken, long skinny white noodles, savory spices like cinnamon, star anise, cloves and cardamom, fresh bean sprouts, chili peppers, and lime. The best phos are served at non-descript roadside restaurants doubling as the family’s home or from big vats on sidewalks, eaten on tiny chairs while the city hustles by. Pho is typically eaten for breakfast, although you can find pho at all times of the day. I have strict notions of what is breakfast food and what is not, and soup is the last thing I thought I’d want for breakfast. But we quickly realized the $1.25 steaming bowl of soup was a much tastier alternative than the Vietnamese adaptation of plain egg omelets for Westerners, so we started eating pho whenever we could get our hands on it.

Dinner pho ga in Saigon

Bun Bo

We only got to try this heavenly dish once, in Hanoi. If we’d had it sooner, surely we would have been searching for it high and low. Bun bo (the Vietnamese words for noodles and beef) has, well, bun and bo, along with fresh lettuce, coriander, basil, beansprouts, and crushed peanuts. Then’s there’s some sort of delectable sweet sauce to top it all off. Yum.

Bun bo in Hanoi at a restaurant recommended by the Rendezvous Hotel.

Fruity Goodness

Out of all of the Southeast Asian countries, we found the tropical fruit to be the freshest and tastiest in Vietnam, especially in the Mekong Delta. There was such variety, and we tried as much as we could. Our favorites were the juicy pomelos; ordinary watermelons that taste like summer in every bite; and the exotic dragonfruit.

The dragonfruit is beautiful to admire and delicious to eat. The ones with white flesh aren't as sweet, but they're juicy with little crunchy seeds like a kiwi.

Let's get a look again. That's one beautiful fruit.

The elusive red dragon fruit. Sweeter than the white ones, they're worth the hunt and extra cost. Don't be alarmed by the toilet over the next few days.

A partially peeled pomelo. Even with a knife, they're a pain to peel; shell out for the ones that are already peeled.

Easter Randomness

– Easter is the one holiday on this trip that we spent away from home twice. Last Easter, we spent the day touring Park Guell and La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.

– Even though our guidebook tells me New Zealanders are not that religious, they have some seriously strict laws about Easter. The government prohibits most businesses from trading on Good Friday and Easter, dashing many of our plans. Also, and most importantly, you can only buy alcohol in restaurants and only if you have the intention of eating. Thus, the true story of how the NZ government forced us to eat a scrumptious $28 NZD pizza on Good Friday.

– Kids from New Zealand get two! weeks! off from school for Easter.

– It is weird to eat chocolate eggs wrapped in pastel colored foils while the leaves outside are the deep colors of autumn.

That is all. May your Easter be filled with lots of chocolatey goodness.

Scenes from Dunedin and the Otago Peninsula

Dunedin is a little big city on the South Island’s east coast. Home to New Zealand’s largest university, it has a definite college town feel. Maybe because of the couches plunked on the front porches next to empty beer cans? Or maybe because it is full of young people and energy and architecture befitting a university next to stately trees. Whatever it is, Dunedin seems like a cool place to go to school. The town radiates out from the center octagon, filled with trendy shops and a Cadbury chocolate plant. There’s parks and hiking trails right within city limits, and if you go to the outskirts, you find a coastal road snaking out on the Otago Peninsula that is beautiful whether you take the high or low road. My favorite part of Dunedin was its happening little Saturday farmer’s market, located in the parking lot next to its stately train station. Fall (which apparently is an American word, I’m told) in April means you get apples next to hot cross buns. We filled our campervan’s tiny cupboards and fridge to the brim with sweet Pacific Beauty apples, juicy pears, crisp cucumbers, fresh sourdough bread, free range eggs, organic garlic, berry farm jam, crisp lettuce greens, and many more tasty treats (including a real honest to goodness chocolately brownie, a fair trade organic long black espresso drink, and savory pies that may have gotten stuffed into our pieholes before we even hit the road).

The mean streets of Dunedin.

The Octagon (well, one side of it anyway)

Not the same meaning in New Zealand as in the United States!

Dunedin has an independent music store, a dying breed. And it has cassette tapes! You know, those things contained music before CDs? Oh wait, you don't know what a CD is, either? Sheesh!

The lower coastal road on the Otago Peninsula.

Told you the sheep are fluffy!

View from the upper coastal road on the Otago Peninsula

Cute little houses in Dunedin (the ones that haven't been turned into frat houses)

A stop at the Whitestone Cheese factory in Omarau before heading south means wine and cheese party in the campervan!

A glimpse of the train station

A fall Saturday at the market

Hog Tales, Vietnam Edition.

We didn’t plan on doing an Easy Rider tour, exactly, but when we wandered up to Dalat from Saigon, endorsements of others ringing in our ears, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that we’d end up on the back of two stranger’s motorcycles, zooming through the Central Highlands. You don’t find the Easy Riders; they find you. In our case, My and his sidekick Mr. Pepperman found us as soon as we stepped off the bus. They’re part of the Dalat Bus Station Easy Rider gang. Neither official Easy Riders nor an official gang, they roll around town with emblemed jackets and work for the same boss, one Mr. Lee. Despite being accosted minutes after we arrived in Dalat, we didn’t hold it against My (pronounced Me). My didn’t give us the hard sell and he seemed like a nice guy. We thought about it for a day, then gave him a call. We negotiated a three day, two night trip through the Central Highlands from Dalat to Nha Trang for $61 a day, including accommodation and fees but not food, which we split down the middle. A fortune in Vietnam, but somehow we kept finding ourselves talked into tours and things we wouldn’t otherwise do in other countries. They’re good salespeople, those Vietnamese.

For three days, we zoomed around the Central Highlands on the back of their bikes, an interior region filled with mountains and forests and rice paddies. The motorcycles turned out to be much more comfortable than riding on the back of any of the scooters we’d taken, although by the end, our butts were ready to say good-bye. During our journey, we learned all about agriculture and now know where silk, coffee, rice, cocoa, sugarcane, tapioca, peppercorns, mushrooms, pineapples and rubber comes from. We saw three different waterfalls, a temple (of course!), a flower farm, and countless scenic overlooks. We watched people make silk, rice whisky, bricks, and rice paper. One night, we even slept on the floor in a wooden house on stilts in a minority village with a minority family (although curiously we never laid eyes on the family).

My promised us an insider’s look at Vietnamese culture, and for the most part, an insider’s look we got. He’d march us into people’s workplaces in the middle of their workdays and say, Ah-mee, where’s your camera, there’s a good picture over there. Then the next thing I’d know he’d be interrupting people’s work, posing photo ops, and My would be saying, Come here, Ah-mee, and I’d be wearing a conical hat or making rice paper or Sean would be pushing a wheelbarrow of bricks or driving a farm vehicle. Although we never fully got over the embarrassment of busting into someone’s life and taking pictures or regret that we were interrupting people in the middle of doing their really hard jobs, it was a side of everyday Vietnam we’d never be able to see without My and Mr. Pepperman. It was nice to be far, far away from the towns where everybody you talked to wanted to sell you something. For three days, no one tried to sell us anything.

In fact, because we were with My and Mr. Pepperman, we even got the local’s prices. More importantly, we got the local’s food. For each meal, they’d order dish after dish, and we got to try Vietnamese food outside of what appeared on the tourist menus. Some of the tastiest food we’ve had was during our Easy Rider tour, once I got over my food and utensils being touched. Back home, someone else touching your food would be rude, but in Asia, communal eating is the norm. Each meal would be begin with My selecting our chopsticks from the crock on the table and rubbing them down with the paper-like napkins to eliminate splinters. He’d clean our spoons, sometimes with his thumb, and organize all of the sauces. Then, we could begin eating. Communal eating doesn’t mean dishing food out with a clean spoon onto your plate to eat. No, communal eating means taking food from the common dish with your chopsticks, putting the food into your mouth, and taking some more food with the same chopsticks you just put in your mouth. And communal eating with My sometimes meant him taking food he with his chopsticks he thought you should have and putting it onto your plate. I suppose I should be glad he didn’t try to put it directly in my mouth.

We, too, were responsible for our share of cultural differences. I kept asking My if he’d fought in the war (thinking of the blurb in the guidebook about most of the Easy Riders being ex-Southern army men). Sean eventually kicked me and told me My was way too young to have fought in the war and I should quit asking because I wasn’t going to get any war stories. Which, really, was best. For one, it’s always good to have periodic reminders to kick preconceived notions out of your head. For two, it’s always a little awkward discussing war when your country was involved. Like when we stopped at an overlook, and My told us matter-of-factly, your country bombed this hillside and burned the whole thing down during the war. It’s kind of hard to formulate an appropriate response to that.  Sorry just doesn’t seem to cut it.

Likewise when your Easy Rider guide apologizes for his county’s littering problem, or rather primitive bathrooms. One morning, after eating some tasty pho bo at a tasty roadside restaurant, I made my way back through the family’s home and used the restaurant’s bathroom, which doubles as the family’s bathroom. When I returned, My said he was sorry the bathrooms weren’t the same as what we were normally used to, and asked me what the bathrooms are like at home. Well, they usually flush by mechanics instead of pouring water down a hole, and uh, you don’t have to squat two inches off the ground or stand in a pool of let’s-pretend-it’s-water-not-pee to use them and, well, they have toilet paper and sinks with soap and hot water and, oh yeah, they’re not strewn with the proprietor’s dirty underwear or toothbrushes seemed like too much detail, so I just mumbled that they were a little different.

We’re not used to being around other people day in and day out besides each other, so My and Mr. Pepperman were an interesting addition to our traveling duo. As is usually the case with Easy Riders, My did most of the talking and Mr. Pepperman tagged along, eating an astonishing amount of peppers at every meal (hence his nickname) and every once in a while piping in with some broken English, like the time he showed us a picture of him as a young man fighting in Cambodia and bragging that he used big guns, big American guns! You never knew what was going to pop out of Mr. Pepperman’s mouth. Mr. Pepperman never stopped smiling during the entire three day trip, and as we’d come to learn, Mr. Pepperman comes prepared. At one of the lookout points, he suddenly busted out a warm can of Ba-Ba-Ba, a local beer, from his tiny bag and handed it to Sean, instructing him to drink. Later that night, after we’d finished dinner, he produced a guitar out of nowhere (albeit with only five strings) and crooned a series of ballads for the crowd.

My was much more talkative. When he wasn’t busy educating us on agriculture or telling us fun facts about the Central Highlands, he was practicing his skills as an amateur photographer – with my camera. Ah-mee, he’d say, give me your camera. This is a good shot! Sean and I had more pictures taken together as a couple during those three days than we did our entire trip. My’s favorite type of photos are jumping ones, and I could tell he had practice, as he got much higher than any of the rest of us. My periodically dropped us off to walk for a little bit, and on one of those walks, we came upon My and Mr. Pepperman posing for their own jumping photos, giggling up a storm.

Like anyone who has taken an Easy Rider tour before us, we found the three days to be a definite highlight of our travels in Vietnam. We saw beautiful scenery, got to know My and Mr. Pepperman, and saw Vietnam outside the tourism industry. If you’re thinking of going on an Easy Rider tour, do it. It’s definitely worth the money. We recommend My and Mr. Pepperman wholeheartedly. They were fun to hang out with, and very thoughtful, always making sure we were comfortable. They always went the extra mile, such as when they took us out to dinner in a cab to give us a rest from the bikes. We found them to be expert, safe drivers, which really, is the most important part. You can find My and Mr. Pepperman hanging around the Dalat bus station.  Or they’ll find you.

Just outside of Dalat in the midst of evergreens

One of the many examples of My's fine photography (and the Central Highlands' scenic outlooks)

Our first big happy Buddha

A woman unwinds the silk from the silkworm cocoons

Cheers at lunch, with Sean, My and Mr. Pepperman

Someone's house My lead us into

Born to be wild

Minority coffee plantation workers trek home from the coffee plantations

Sean and My outside our homestay

Mr. Pepperman sings the blues

Women work in the rice fields around Lak Lake

My puts me to work too, much to my dismay at having to interrupt this women's work and borrowing her hat for a photo op.

One of the awesome scenes along the way

Sean helps wheel some bricks for drying

Fishing boats just outside of Nha Trang

And...JUMP!

When you look up awesome in the dictionary, you’ll find New Zealand.

So our love affair with New Zealand continues, although our shock over the New Zealand prices has not yet subsided. I fear the price shock is causing us to spend more than planned. Because now when I see a $3 cookie, I can rationalize it by saying it is $3 kiwi dollars, which isn’t really $3 actual dollars, and if you don’t do the math, you never have to figure out that it is a really overpriced cookie.   But let’s not dwell on that, because guess what kind of overpriced cookies New Zealand has?  Cookie Time cookies, for serious cookie munchers.  And what am I but not a serious cookie muncher, especially after months of being deprived?  In Queenstown, the Cookie Time serves chocolate chip cookies warm, with milk from a draft pump.  How awesome is that?  Clearly worth any amount of kiwi or U.S. dollars.

So far we’ve learned that if something is marked as a scenic route in New Zealand, they really mean super scenic route, and if it is not marked as a scenic route, chances are it is going to be a scenic route anyway.  We pretty much spend all of our time cruising around in our campervan, stopping every five minutes for yet another photo.  Our vocabulary consists of ooh and aah and wow and amazing and awesome and other such words.  Because New Zealand?  Is totally deserving of all of those words and many more.  Not only is the scenery consistently beautiful, the country is totally neat and organized. There’s absolutely no litter, every lawn is immaculately landscaped (doesn’t anyone have a trashy overflowing front porch in this country?), and all of the roads are nicely paved with scenic lookouts just where you want them. Every town has an information center brimming with free information; I hope someone reuses or recycles the zillions of brochures that are threatening to take over our campervan. The Department of Conservation has conserved land all over the country, and each area is well signposted with historical, ecological, and logistical information. I hate to keep making unfair comparisons to Asia, but the differences between New Zealand and Asia are so wide, so profound, I can’t help myself.

I’ve been trying to figure out why New Zealand is so scenic, and I think I’ve come up with two explanations. First, there’s just not that many people here to screw things up or even to get in the way of your fabulous photos. The people are crowded into little towns and cities with tons of trendy cafes and wool shops galore, which much of the land is undeveloped and untouched, or touched only by sheep farms. Which brings me to point number two. There’s a ton of sheep here. We were certain there had to be more sheep than Ireland, and it turns out we were right. There are 8 million sheep in Ireland, but there are 40 million sheep in New Zealand. And you all know how I love sheep. Unlike Ireland, most of the sheep here are unpainted. And super fluffy. I’m thinking it is because it is almost winter, but who knows? All I know is the high fluffy sheep density is reason number 433 why I’m loving New Zealand.

We’ve covered a lot of ground already; we didn’t listen to our wise buddies over at the Road Forks and are trying to cram both islands into a month. Luckily New Zealand keeps you moving; no matter how much you’re enjoying where you are and no matter how much you feel like you could stay forever, you feel the pull towards the next amazing place around the corner. We’ve visited the little French town of Akaroa on the gorgeous Banks Peninsula; cruised down the east coast to the historic town of Omarau; stopped by the Moeraki boulders at low tide; ate a tasty but pricey blue cod lunch at Fleur’s Place by the ocean; explored the Otago peninsula but passed on pricey penguin and other wildlife tours; hung out in the college town of Dunedin and got some tasty produce and treats at its Saturday farmer’s market for cooking up in our campervan; meandered through the sunny Catlins coast and Southern Scenic Route; sped towards Curio Bay on zero gas in time to catch the yellow eyed penguins come ashore there for free; stayed in a campground wedged between two gorgeous ocean bays with a sea lion visitor; saw an amazing sunrise over our campground in Te Anau; cruised through the Milford Sound and explored the Fiordlands in the pouring rain and fog; gawked at impossibly gorgeous sunny Queenstown in fall, in April; gawked at others jumping off bridges and the like but opted only for the tamer jetboating through the Shotover Canyon; tasted a fantastic blackberry and chocolate muffin along with a long black at Ritual Espresso Cafe in Wanaka; drove through the Haast mountain pass, again in the pouring rain and fog (what is with this, New Zealand?); detoured to Jackson Bay to eat perfectly battered fresh fish and chips in a trailer by the sea; and now we’re in Fox Glacier township, about to explore a real creeping glacier tomorrow. Whew!

p.s. New Zealand is toying with our weather emotions. One day it’s freezing cold and winter-like; the next it’s a sunny fall day in April; the next it’s back to rain and fog. The weather really better pull itself together; from here on out, we’re northward bound. And in this upside down world, north is like south.  So I expect sunshine; you hear that, New Zealand?

p.p.s. After all this talk of gorgeousness, I bet you’re wanting some pictures, huh? Fear not; there’s so many, I’ll have to break them up in future posts. But if you can’t wait, you can see all of them through yesterday here because I am a photo processing rock star and current on my photos for the first time during the whole trip!