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Vietnam steals something away from you when you visit and I don't mean that in a good way.
Even seasoned travelers complain about difficult journeys, obstinate people, questionable food and the impenetrability of the place. So many more places give up their charm more easily. Surrounding countries are a pleasure (almost) from start to finish; certainly by comparison. I love new adventures, uncharted territory, stares from untrusting locals, being the only ethnic minority on a bus and cities with no McDonalds. It's what travel is all about, what makes a trip more memorable, isn't it? Well...no. Not really. I can put up with hot sweaty crammed buses, stubborn gruff people, suspected dog meat in the beef stir fry and even just feeling out of place in a place. But not if that's all there is. There needs to be, at some point, some sort of a reciprocal response, something positive. My wife Heather and I travelled for 13 months around the world and after journeying through beguiling Thailand and sedate Laos, Vietnam hit us like a sharp slap in the face. Now, I don't want anyone to think I am ungrateful, or that for one month I sulked and stropped my way from top to bottom through the country. I didn't. You may ask why am I bothering to put finger to key about such a place if it was truly awful. The answer is easy. If ever a country existed to produce polar opposite emotions and opinions, then it is Vietnam.

I like to be free to make my own way to sites of interest, to negotiate prices, arrive before or after the crowds, to spend longer than a pre-determined time at a place. Heather has a similar mindset on this, that’s one of the reasons we don’t drive each other barmy on long trips. Visiting the big attractions and getting around in Vietnam affords little opportunity for independence. Travel options are restricted, sometimes to one. Where there’s only one option, there’s only one price. It’s not usually a low one. Then there's Vietnamese roads; as cratered as the moon's surface and with a traffic system which can accurately be described as baffling. Nowhere else (I have been) do the majority of road users exhibit such a total disregard for road lanes or driving safety. Vehicles and animals of all descriptions come at you from all directions, all the time. 'Might is right' seems to be the only road rule, ably demonstrated by the endless streams of lorries and buses careering up the middle of the highway into oncoming streams of lorries and buses speeding the other way up the middle of the road. Initially, this is terrifying. We see two minor crashes in one month, both involving mopeds. To me that seems low.

When we do manage to break away from the 'trail' and get to motorcycle along the levees, through incredibly beautiful and ancient-feeling karst limestone landscapes - Mother Nature's movie set – then things alter. We watch men and women tending to their paddy fields up to their knees in water; water buffaloes minding their own business in the middle of roads; locals buzzing past with precipitous loads on their bikes; flocks of super-cute school kids taking off en-masse on their push bikes, and all this under the baking heat of the glorious sun. Taking a step back and just slowly observing allows a wider perspective and things seem to make more sense. Even the madcap traffic downgrades from utter chaos into a more unified chaos theory. If the road rule is anyone or anything can come at you from any direction at any time, then that’s the rule! It’s up to me to learn it and live with it. Is this me tuning into the country?

Not for long. Soon I have to re-engage with Vietnam and it jars things out of place again. Food does disappoint, the treatment of animals appals, intransigent attitudes are encountered frequently and the ‘one’ price is often too high. All these things happen in isolated incidents, but way above the level of times I’ve experienced in any other country. I ask myself what is going on? What is the reason? Perhaps a glance at a savage history - shockingly recent - reveals the reason behind this stubborn nature. Or the existing north/south divide which is a reality in many ways, financial and psychological uppermost. Or, perhaps it’s an effect of the totalitarian regime, still in power today. Few democratic rights for these people, what would that do to an attitude? It would certainly create a race of survivors. As would the hardships most Vietnamese faced during the 'American War'. Through all my negativity, something about the spirit of the people still moves me in a more positive direction. An awakening idea dawns on me, that many people here are not just surviving, they are thriving. Looking around, the place is vibrant and full of new business opportunities. The whole country is unwinding, from a tightly wound coil. And in loosening up it is finding its feet, opportunities are being grabbed. Vietnam is changing, fast. I must bear this in mind. So much of this is new to them as well.

We had a memorable 10-hour train ride from Hanoi north towards the border with China. In keeping with this story, it was memorable for the wrong reasons. The overnight train had long since sold out of sleeper cabins by the time we bought our tickets, so we were roughing it on wooden benches, back in second class. I’ve slept in worse places and with a jumper as a pillow, I was looking forward to a few hours sleep. My fellow passengers had other ideas. The non-smoking cabin quickly filled with smoke as everyone lit up. Neither the signs nor the ticket inspector were sufficient deterrents. Probably for our benefit, the windows were all opened, but that only chilled the carriage, so we had to wrap up tighter. Then the drink began flowing, the Vietnamese equivalent of super strength lager, I suspect. That led to gambling, with half the cabin crowded round five card players, money exchanging hands as fast as it was won. Encircled round the game-players, the crowd completely blocked off any passage up or down the train, so a bit of mountaineering had to be done just to get to the toilet. And then the puking started. It was only one or two of them, but certainly enough to fill the air with the pungent smell of vomit. Not a train journey I want to relive too often.

The next stage of the journey – to Sapa, a small town in the northern highlands – was by minibus and Vietnam again did an about turn, showing its good side once more. Tantalisingly brief views of deep chasms and sculpted terraces with paddies were offered, obscured by early morning mist closely gathered within the valleys, so the secret was never fully revealed. I was intrigued. High up in the mountains, Sapa felt almost Alpine. Some of the buildings resembled chalets and the thin, cool air is unmistakably from altitude. The H'mong locals are definitely not alpine. Clad in their elegant indigo-biased traditional outfits, they clog the town centre selling their craft-wares to tourists, or fruit and vegetables to each other. Only the women sell to tourists and their selling style is pushy, but infectiously friendly. I can't help smiling to the engaging and highly polished sales pitches, which gives me a way as a sucker in any language. Every age of woman is involved in the effort, from grandaughters to grannies, often crowds of women are involved, which does not feel even remotely pressured, they are very gentle in their persuasions. Purchases are made, suffice it to say. Vietnam showing some depth. Now I am impressed.

My wife and I arranged to visit the home of one young H'mong woman - Ty. Seven kilometres outside Sapa, down a long winding road, and after getting thoroughly lost each time we turned off the only 'tarmac-ed' road and tried to wind through the terraced fields on our moped, we met up with Ty. She took us to a local shop, a very rough and ready affair, where we insisted we buy all the lunch ingredients and as much more as we could. In the H'mong manner, Ty had her young child -Tu (pronounced Choo and meaning 'elephant') strapped on to her back. There's no counting how many times 27-yr old Ty has walked the seven kilometres into Sapa to sell all day and then walked back, carrying Tu all the time. Her husband walks the same way (occasionally they may get a lift on a motorbike) to farm the plots of land they own. The entire valley is a patchwork of small terraces neatly divided and all owned individually, up to ten plots per family. From this and selling to tourists they try to eke out a living. Ty has an advantage over other girls, that she speaks perfect English. This and her friendly manner make her more likely to be asked by tourists about her home life, and possibly people wanting to visit her at home.

From the roadside shop, we still had to make it to Ty's house. A meandering thirty-minute hike followed, up steep mud slopes, crossing small streams and all winding round the local school and other dwellings. Facing me was a wooden house with chickens running around outside and a pig which demanded its tummy scratched by my wife. Sitting in the main room, I took in the surroundings. I'm in a barn, it had a concrete floor, limited possessions and was roughly divided into communal, cooking and sleeping areas. Some telltale iconography shows me Christianity has been adopted. Our lunch is cooked on a thick iron pot, balanced over a log fire on the floor. Ty crouched next to it, stirring, adding things expertly. After a pleasant lunch, Ty patiently answered all our questions. More of Ty's children fleetingly visited, with their little friends, then disappeared. I marvel at the details of life here; weddings, wages, children, expectations, farming and the future. Life doesn't seem easy, but, it is as it is. Part of me wants so much more for Ty and her family, but part of me wants her people to remain the same forever, both of my wishes completely unrealistic and a little bit vain. Life moves on. The experience burns a deep memory into me. If I visit Sapa in fifty years time, I will seek out Ty and her family. At last, a real connection with someone in Vietnam.

For me, my soul is my deepest thoughts and memories. Not thoughts that can be conjured up willingly; they are more akin to instincts or intuitions. My soul can be touched and changed by life's experiences. Vietnam does take something away from my soul, but, on many occasions, it gifts something back. I meet people who make me smile, or laugh, like Ty. Or I gape in wonder at a variety of serenely beautiful landscapes. Or the sheer lunacy of a situation amuses me. The happiness which derives from these times is powerful. I will not forget the good times in Vietnam.

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