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 The Elephant was in Hoi An recently. The town was strangely beautiful with its ancient shophouses, temples and traditional market place. But something struck a mystical chord. The very streets themselves appeared to have been taken over by an alien life form. Had these strange beings arrived from some kind of inter-galactic spaceship; were they intent on evil deeds; what was their mission exactly?
Well, no, no and it was hard to say: Most had arrived on cheap, inter-city buses, slowly making their way up or down the country on an "open ticket" costing the princely sum of twenty bucks or so; their intention was benign, just out for a good time as they travelled the country; and their mission? To "experience the real Vietnam" and to really get to know the country from a "grass roots" level. This didn't really present us with a problem, but they did rather clutter the streets and somehow detracted from the "real" Hoi An experience for the Elephant. A snapshot: Sitting in a cafe in Hanoi, listening in on the earnest conversation at the table behind me. "Yah . . . I just got back from Sapa you know." "Really, haven't been there yet. How was it?" "Well, actually, I was some ways outside Sapa, a tiny village where I was allowed to stay with a local family in their home. I could have been one of the first westerners to have been there. [He wasn't] In fact, that's what I always try to do - stay with the locals. I really feel that I'm getting in touch with the Vietnamese people. I've even picked up quite a bit of the language." "How long have you been here," asks his enthralled companion. "Three weeks," he replies."But I've tried to avoid all the main tourist spots. I feel it's so important not to get bogged down with our western clutter. I travel alone, eat with the locals and stay off the beaten track whenever I can."  Now, go figure.The guy's been here three weeks but he's already speaking like a local in fluent Vietnamese. He would rather stay in a flea-ridden house and sponge off a poor minority people than pay a couple of bucks for a half decent hotel. And he makes these statements while sitting in Hanoi's original Darling Cafe - a major meeting point for backpackers in Vietnam, as featured in almost every budget travel "Bible", as he tucks into yet another banana and chocolate pancake washed down with that most traditional Vietnamese libation: a pineapple lassi.
Now don't get us wrong; there's plenty of room for everybody to travel and enjoy the many unique facets of Vietnam and to search for the true "Vietnam Experience". We just don't understand the logic of some of those undertaking the journey. Consider this: Two backpackers travelling to the capital from Hue refused to pay an extra fifty cents or so for a cyclo to carry the pair of them and their enormous backpacks into town, arguing that Lonely Planet said the price was X and the cyclo driver wanted to charge them Y. The fact that their copy was two or three years out of date didn't seem to faze them one bit. They argued for around twenty minutes (we were fascinated, so told our driver to wait in the car), finally hoisting their packs onto their backs and hiking into town. The outside temperature was around thirty-five degrees and humidity probably one hundred percent. A bit petty for the sake of around 50 cents we thought as we were driven to our suite to take a well earned shower and rest. And what the hell are they wearing? Backpacker attire seems to fall into three categories: First there's the "gone troppo" look favoured by many an antipodean traveller. This consists of straggly hair, often dreadlocked, dirty singlet, shorts of dubious provenance and an ever-present stubby of beer. Fair enough we guess, as - apart from the dreads - they dress pretty much the same at home.  The second look, which appears to be popular almost every season, is the "minority chic" ensemble. To qualify for this particular catwalk, our model travellers must purchase absolutely the loudest, most hangover-inducing embroidered fabrics at "local" markets throughout the region. Then mix and match as you see fit. Purple and black pantaloons with a yellow, green and blue waistcoat? Go for it! And don't forget the collarless shirt with Chinese cuffs and bow-tied buttons. Yes, you too can look like the clown from hell - and all for just a few bucks. Finally there's the "serious traveller" image. Aspire to inspire with wrinkle-free, EZ-wash khaki pants, buff-coloured buttoned shirts and the ubiquitous khaki photographer's waistcoat, usually with some very handy netting and webbing on the backside to cushion those non-existent lenses, tripods etc.. You'll look like David Attenborough, or the strangest kind of war-correspondent from some poor desolate, long-forgotten story of a place.  Then there's the food. Because budgets are ever tight, most of our strange brew spend time seeking out the cheapest dining option available, wherever they happen to be. In Nha Trang recently, for example, due to the fact that most are headed out to a particular nautical club later in the evening, many budget travellers tend to skimp on food to keep cash available for beer and buckets. Now, we won't argue with the logic of that, but spending three months eating nothing but noodles, rice and swamp-grass seems to be extreme to us.
There are so many decent cafes serving healthy-sized burgers for just a couple of bucks that it seems to be overkill to avoid these for the sake of a buck or so. And you're more likely to "connect" over a cup of coffee or a light meal at a reputable establishment than sitting alone in some godforsaken dive swilling stale rice in a sea of questionable soup, all flavoured to the max with lashing of nuoc mam. You love it! Still, it really doesn't matter as, after all, it's only for a year or so then it's back home to that job Daddy's been holding for you. Why waste money now when you can dine on the corp for the next twenty years. By Mark Lindesay
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