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Living Like a Vietnamese Rock Star

October 20, 2010 in Destinations, Experiences, Video | 3 comments

The band at Envy Club and Lounge performs a cover of Lady GaGa’s “Paparazzi”

By our second night in Da Lat, we had run out of evening activities.

Atop the Vietnamese highlands, the resort town known as the City of Eternal Spring and “Le Petit Paris” has much to offer for travellers. The cool weather offers a respite from the heat of the coast, and the European influence can be seen in architecture and cuisine alike. It is a fine place to spend time in cafes or take part in outdoor activities, such as kayaking or canyoning.

What Da Lat is not, however, is a bustling night spot. Beloved had decided to call it an early night by 9 pm on Saturday, and I was left at loose ends. Cafes were already starting to close their doors, and even the house band at the Ngoc Lan Hotel had ended their show for the evening.

The only spot to show some promise was the nearby Envy Club and Lounge, which was radiating an indescribable amount of light and sound, like a Vietnamese lighthouse against boredom.

As soon as I stepped inside, I was living like a Vietnamese rock star.

The club was packed with sound and lighting equipment, and filled with chic, comfortable couches and chairs. Da Lat’s movers and shakers sat around the side of the club, consuming endless waves of Heineken, cavorting with their entourages and hobnobbing with members of the band. I’ve seen my share of house bands before, and Envy’s was very good. I counted as many as five singers, and they played a mixture of Vietnamese, English and French songs.

I pulled out a cigar that I’d been saving for a special occasion. The server rushed over, and I resigned myself to what inevitably happened when I tried to smoke a cigar; they would look at me like I had just set fire to an orphanage, and tell me I was not allowed to practice my filthy habit in their establishment. Not this time, though. She rushed over so that she could light my cigar for me.

The prices at Envy are extravagant, but only by Vietnamese standards. (“How dare they charge $3 for a glass of 12 year old whisky!”) They offer bottle service for those who truly want to live like a rock star, and the fabulously rich can buy a bottle of Hennessy Richard for a mere 55,000,000 Dong (approximately USD$2,800). The price is matched by the service, and the staff will be by on a regular basis to top up your beer and add more ice, as needed.

Envy was clearly the place to bring a date you wanted to impress, and the club provided ample fodder for those travellers who indulge in flagrant people-watching. (There is no more fascinating cultural activity to witness than the process of Wooing, of which there was an abundance.)

I had a good time in Da Lat. I enjoyed the beautiful scenery, the temperate climate, the restaurants and the cafe lifestyle. But, for me, Envy was the highlight: a chance to enjoy great music, live the high life, and take the pulse of the new Vietnam.

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Starving in Saigon

October 10, 2010 in Experiences | 1 comment

I put on my glasses and looked down at my watch. It was 2:18 am.

We had a flight to catch next day, and I’d gone to bed later than I should have. There was the usual list of excuses: Skyping to do, e-mails to send, and a book too good to put down.

I tried to sleep, without success. And now I was hungry. Not just hungry, ravenous.

Usually, I travel with food. Or I stay at a hotel with a mini-bar stocked with Pringles. Or they have room service. Or there’s a late-night restaurant nearby. You get the idea.

It was the middle of the night in Saigon, and I was famished. And there was no food to be had.

I tried to ignore it, at first. Mind over matter. Don’t think about food. Think about something else, anything else. That strategy lasted for about 6 minutes. By the time I gave up, I was even hungrier than before.

My mind went over the list of items we brought on our trip, trying to determine if any of them were edible. Did I still have the gum I was given in lieu of change in Egypt? No, we’d thrown that out. Beloved’s chapstick, which was made of beeswax and honey? No, she only has one of them and, when she inevitably asked where it went, would not take kindly to the excuse “I ate it.”

I’m not too proud to admit that I raided our First Aid kit and ate some of our Tums. At first, they seemed to hit the spot. Then, the bicarbonate in the Tums mixed with my stomach acid to create my own 5th Grade Science Fair project in my digestive tract. I spent the next 12 minutes burping. Beloved was not impressed.

I went downstairs to see if the hotel had any food. The bellhops were asleep on their couches, but woke when they heard me shuffling around the lobby, looking for stray peanuts. I mimed holding a plate and shovelling food in my mouth with imaginary utensils, the universal gesture for food. They pointed at their watches and held up seven fingers. Not until 7 am.

I went outside, hoping there was at least one restaurant open at this hour. There was nothing. Not even the roadside cafes or the convenience stores were open at this hour. I shuffled back to the elevator, wondering how much Vietnamese toilet paper I could eat before I got sick.

Inspiration struck before I got back to the room. I went to the top floor, where they serve breakfast in the morning. To my amazement, the door was open. Through the near-total darkness, I could make out that they had set out some of it in advance. I was in raptures when I found the jam. Then I saw the cereal.

I had peeled back the cellophane and was searching for a plate when I heard the noise.

“Snuh… uh…”

To my absolute horror, I realized that the breakfast staff was sleeping in the room, less than 10 feet from where I stood. And I had my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Delicious, delicious cookies…

I froze like a deer in the headlights. Then, abandoning what little dignity I had left, I quickly shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind me.

But then I paused. Could I really go back to Vietnamese toilet paper when there was cereal to be had?

With the utmost stealth, I reopened the door and tiptoed my way back to the buffet table. The crunch of the spoon dipping into the serving bowl sounded like a car crash, the tinkling of the cereal onto the plate like a thousand glasses shattering. I counted my scoops, pausing between each to ensure that I hadn’t been discovered. After 10 scoops, I could bear the tension no longer. I slowly made my way back to the elevator, closing the door gently behind me.

It was the best cereal I’ve ever had in my life, and I feel asleep moments later. I just wonder what the staff thought the next day, when they noticed that the cellphone had been peeled off the cereal bowl.

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Imminent Departure

October 4, 2010 in Experiences | 4 comments

There are just a handful of hours left before my fiancee and I catch our first flight, and I have yet to collect my tuxedo shirt from the dry cleaner, or get the haircut that will transform me from surf bum to respectable groom-to-be.

I know that in just over a week, I will be getting married in Prague. I know that, after the wedding, we will be leaving on a three-month-long round-the-world honeymoon. I cannot hold both ideas in my head at the same time. They are simply too overwhelming, and as soon as I fully grasp the importance of one concept, the other is bumped from my mental shelf onto the ground.

My errands completed, we begin the task of securing our home during our lengthy absence. It’s times like this that we truly appreciate the convenience of condominium living. The only real worry that we have is whether we have remembered to pack everything we need. With no leaves to rake or gutters to clean, a friend’s regular visit will be all the maintenance required.

Beloved and I have named the strange creatures that inhabit our stomachs. We have called them “the Nervous” and, after several days of relative calm, my Nervous has decided that it would like to swim a few lengths up and down my abdomen.

We lock the door, still plagued by unanswered questions. Will Beloved’s dress survive the trans-Atlantic journey? Will Beloved’s and my marriage survive three months of travel? Will our cats survive the care that has been sub-sub-contracted to Beloved’s youngest brother’s girlfriend’s friends? Such questions are no less persistent despite the fact that they can only be answered by the trip itself.

We push down the Nervous, and enter the twisted assembly line of international air travel.

Check in, towing two large and one small suitcases, a back-pack, a large purse and a wedding dress. Would we be able to upgrade to Executive Class? Not unless we are willing to upgrade our entire around-the-world ticket. I am tempted to ask how much something like that might cost, but realize we might well miss our flight while they calculate such a vast sum.

Clear security. Use Maple Leaf Worldwide card (one of our best purchases of the trip) to gain access to the Star Alliance lounge. Note the smell of cookies and privilege. Wash down cookies with pint of Guinness. Settle in for a while. Enjoy the last of our mobile web browsing before we are reduced to stealing WiFi. Exchange iPhones for eReaders. Eat more cookies, washed down with more Guinness.

Reach the gate. Ask whether there might be room for the wedding dress in Executive Class. Yes, of course. Sweetly ask whether they might consider moving us so that we could “be close to the dress”. Suggest that we might have to paid to do so, had it not required us to re-mortgage our condo. They will see what they can do.

Wait. Wait some more. Get paged to the gate. Receive an early wedding present from Air Canada of two Executive Class tickets. Thank the gate agents profusely. Surreptitiously bump fists on our way back to the departure lounge.

Board the plane. Note the irony of asking Air Canada to place us in isolation pods in recognition of our upcoming wedding. Learn from the lesson of the mother in Executive Class who is travelling with a three year old: isolation pods make it difficult for your child to receive comfort or be reassured of parent’s existence at any point in the flight, including the bizarre sensation of taking off while facing sideways.

Accept generous offer of pre-flight champagne. Turn on Iron Man 2. Gorge myself on food and wine as though this is my very first or very last meal. Ask for glass of Grand Marnier to go with dessert. Receive pint of Grand Marnier. Use Grand Marnier to wash down some Advil. Make full use of earplugs and sleep mask in First Class sleep kit. Promptly fall asleep.

Arrive in Frankfurt. Clear Customs. Clear security, again. Navigate the constantly shifting rat’s maze that is Frankfurt Airport. Locate Star Alliance lounge. Use Maple Leaf card, again. Enjoy sunrise mimosas, followed by several cappuccinos.

Head to gate. Ask politely about wedding dress. Receive reassurances that it can be stored in First Class. Resist urge to ask whether we can also be moved to “be close to the dress.” Resist temptation to carry wedding dress with us for remainder of round-the-world honeymoon as a tool for obtaining free upgrades.

Board plane. Receive small alpine picnic from Lufthansa, complete with red and white picnic bag. Wonder why Lufthansa always has the best food. Finish lunch. Land in Prague.

Answer the first of the questions: Beloved’s dress has indeed survived the trans-Atlantic journey.

Thanks to Air Canada, Beloved's wedding dress survived the trans-Atlantic journey.

Next – First Destination: A Prague Wedding

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