Facing the Dragon - Chapter 2

Wow! As I look back on the events of yesterday, this is the first word that comes to my mind. The term “eye opening” just isn’t emphatic enough. Mind jarring is a better description as I can almost feel someone above me with a crowbar prying my mind open and pushing my perceptions to the side to make room for a flood of new information that will permanently impact the way I perceive things in the future.

I woke up this morning after a much needed restful sleep and immediately made my way to the breakfast table. The spread in front of me is impressive with an array of options ranging from fresh fruit to pho to eggs to steamed dumplings. I decided on the pho and dumplings as my eyes and stomach steered me past the standard breakfast fare in the direction of the local specialties. With a stomach full of goodies and my day pack in hand, I make my way out into the hot sun to begin my day.

Within steps of my hotel, I see a busy shop with a US dollar sign listed on the sign in front of the shop. This is exactly what I am looking for as I am running out of Vietnamese dong notes. The chaotic environment around the shop makes me a bit apprehensive to exchange a large sum of cash with so many people around. I walk up and try to discreetly present a sum of money that is probably a month or more of salary for a typical Saigon local. My 150 USD results in about a 150 different dong notes. Surprisingly, the transaction is simple and there are no communication issues. As I haplessly attempt to jam my dong notes into my money belt, -- failing miserably to be subtle -- I notice my cyclo driver from last night. He is waiting for me with a host of others ready to sell me anything and everything. I buy a fresh coconut and take a couple refreshing gulps of coconut milk before jumping on the cyclo and beginning my day. I have no idea what I am about to see and experience.

My first destination is the Giac Lam Pagoda. Years later, I would be able to trace back to this moment in time as it served as my introduction to a completely different religion and way of life. This is where I was first introduced to Buddhism.

The Giac Lam Pagoda is Vietnam’s oldest pagoda. Upon entering the pagoda, I feel my body and mind begin to relax. The pagoda feels holy and threatening at the same time. The only light entering the pagoda shines through the windows at odd angles. I can smell the burning incense and am mesmerized by the turquoise green and gold temple in front of me. I look down at the bare feet of the monk that I am following through the pagoda and am overwhelmed by his tranquility. I notice people lying on the ground around me as they pray and use the floor to cool their bodies at the same time. I feel calm resonating throughout my body as I sit down and pray with the others. I am uncomfortable as I do not know the correct sitting posture and have no idea what to do with my hands. I look around, hoping not to be noticed, to mimic the postures of the worshippers around me. I cross my legs, extend my arms across my knees with palms facing up and shut my eyes. At this point, who I am praying to is of little consequence. God or Buddha, my mind feels clear.

After some time, I exit the pagoda and jump back aboard my cyclo. I am now in route to another pagoda. We ride along the busy streets towards the Giac Vien Pagoda, which is located in a more residential section of town. We turn down a less busy street where I can see inside the homes of the people who live in this area. Since air conditioning is non existent, the doors and windows of the homes are all open to allow for as much airflow as possible. In the homes that I can see inside of, there are many people congregated together in a single room. Some are napping, others watch TV and others appear to be working. My first impression after seeing these tiny, and in some cases dilapidated homes, is one of shock. However, the stares I receive from the people when our eyes meet slowly turn into warm smiles making me feel more comfortable as I approach the pagoda.

As I walk up to the pagoda entrance, a smiling monk greets me with a handshake and references in the direction of my feet to indicate that my shoes need to be removed before I can enter the pagoda. After removing my shoes, I follow the monk, who leads with smiles in place of words, towards a table inside. I have no idea what to do so I follow his lead and sit down on the chair across from him. It is much cooler in this pagoda and the interior is more spacious and open. I glance towards the ceiling and can see the dust particles floating in the rays of light near the rafters. The monk turns to his left and grabs a teapot and pours us each a cup of tea. There is no conversation other than our smiles as we share a cup of tea.

After our refreshing drink, we rise and I follow the monk through the pagoda. He uses hand and facial gestures to point out what I perceive to be some of the most significant symbols and areas in the temple. Likewise, I am able to use hand and face gestures to indicate to him that I would like to take his picture. He obliges and smiles beamingly. According to the description in my Rough Guide, there are bats hanging from some of the rafters that you can occasionally hear squeaking. I lean my head back and look above me, watching and listening for any sign of the bats until my neck begins to ache. Just as I am about to give up, I spot two hanging bats. They don’t look threatening, but scare me nonetheless. It is time for me to leave, but I am unable to locate the monk to thank him. Eventually, he appears and we exchange handshakes and bows before I exit the pagoda. As I walk out into the hot sun, I find myself contemplating the serene religious atmosphere that these temples seem to offer. From the warmth of the monks to the environment and décor to the music, they seem to be the perfect place to contemplate with one’s self. After visiting these 2 pagodas, my mind is burdened by many thoughts. I am not entirely sure what these thoughts are telling me but I feel very deeply that I need to gain a greater understanding of the tenets of Buddhism.

My driver is now peddling in the direction of Cholon. Cholon is the Chinese ghetto in Saigon that is home to one of the largest and most popular markets in the entire city. Upon arrival, I tell my cyclo driver that I will meet him in one hour and we part ways.

I begin to wander around and am immediately mesmerized by the array of activity going on around me. Everything is for sale with no exceptions. This is the department store, jewelry store, grocery store, lingerie store and any other store you can imagine in one place. From perfume to jade to diapers to fresh chicken and cuttlefish, anything can be bought here. It is as amazing as it is filthy. Food scraps, garbage and puddles of smelly, dark colored liquid are everywhere. I am trying to avoid stepping with my sandaled feet into these puddles, but am failing miserably. I feel disgusted as I look at my dirty, wet feet but have no choice but to move on. There are rows upon rows of tables filled with jewelry, razors, soap, candy, towels and pens in no semblance of order. I look down one aisle in the market and am amazed by the chaos I see in my path. There is so much garbage that it is almost impossible to see whether the road beneath is made of dirt or clay. I see children selling fruit, women making and selling fresh spring rolls at street kitchens and people buying drapes to furnish their homes. I make a bold and potentially dangerous decision when I decide to listen to my belly instead of my mind. My fondness for vendor sold street food runs deep and one peek at this woman laying out all sorts of fresh vegetables and ingredients to make spring rolls is enough to stop me in my tracks. Knowing that this is a calculated decision that I very well could pay for later, I ponder over what to do for a second before deciding that this opportunity is too good to pass up. I sit down on a bucket that is being used as a stool and face up to the makeshift table she is assembling the spring rolls on. Since verbal communication isn’t an option, I pick up whatever she puts in front of me and put it into my mouth. One spring roll is filled with pork and the other with shrimp. I use the fish sauce she gives me for dipping and it tastes delicious. Her warm smile and my awareness that I am the only tourist with white skin anywhere around me make the food taste even better. After enjoying this nice snack, I meander around the market for some time investigating dozens of stalls selling t-shirts, Buddhist statues and jade earrings and necklaces in the hopes of finding something for my mother and sister.

At this point, I have seen a good portion this large market. I could stay for hours but with so much else to see, I decide that a walk back to my cyclo is in my best interest. My cyclo driver is chatting with some girls on the street when I walk up and hop aboard. He winks at me and nods his head toward the women standing in front of me. The women are smiling adoringly at me. I return their smiles and say hello. He winks at me again. I wink back at him and tell him that it is time for us to push ahead. He obliges, jumps aboard and peddles on. I am uncertain as to his intentions towards these women. He is probably just trying to be courteous and help me, but I don’t need this kind of help. At least I don’t need it right now.

Out on the streets and amid traffic again, we are headed in the direction of another market; the Binh Tay Market. However, the Binh Tay Market will have to be our second stop as it is nearing lunch time and a bowl of pho is calling my name. There is a local restaurant called Pho 2000 that I read about earlier today that we are headed to for lunch. We arrive at the restaurant and I excitedly hop off of my cyclo. I walk towards the restaurant but my cyclo driver isn’t following me. I stop and walk back towards him and try to persuade him to join me for lunch. I know it is his job to wait for me and drive me around but sometimes that feels uncomfortable and I would like for him to join me for a bowl of pho. It takes some coaxing but he finally agrees to let me buy him a coke, but not lunch. As he enjoys his coke and I my warm, nourishing and scrumptious bowl of pho, we make some significant progress communicating. I find out that he is 29 years old and is married with a 3 year old son. He has a very difficult time understanding why I am still single since I am nearly his age. I don’t know if this has anything to do with me being single but he once again makes it known to me that he can find me any kind of woman I desire. He makes sure to let me know this again and again throughout the day. While these questions are humorous to me, this service is obviously standard for men like me that are visiting Vietnam.

Eating at basic, non-touristy restaurants that are frequented by locals is quite an adjustment for someone from the Western world. They offer great value - my lunch cost 1$ - but they are very rudimentary and by Western standards, a bit dirty. Pho 2000 has basic white tables with bright light beaming in through the windows from every angle. It is hot with no air conditioning, but that doesn’t stop me from ordering a bowl of hot soup for lunch. Saigon is a large, populous city with a tropical climate and it is not uncommon to find an occasional bug crawling across your table. Pho 2000 is no exception as I see a few gnat size bugs crawling on my table. I wipe them off of the table to provide a clear space for my soup. This isn’t anything I couldn’t get used to or can’t comprehend given the humidity and environment. However, I would not be surprised to find an unseasoned traveler venturing out of a wealthy Western country for the first time distraught at the thought of going out for a meal. They very well might find themselves not eating much of anything or overpaying and eating at restaurants frequented strictly by tourists. However, choosing to avoid local places like Pho 2000 would be a tragic mistake because food is such an integral part of Vietnamese culture. The Vietnamese’ famous love of food is as much a part of their culture as the conical hat or the water buffalo and it is hard to really appreciate this unless you are willing to rub elbows with Saigon’s residents at a local restaurant. I have mentioned pho quite a few times now. For those new to the term and the dish, here is an impassioned description of the dish itself and what it means to Vietnamese culture that I found posted on the Pho 2000 web site.

“What is Pho? (pronounced "FUH") For many Vietnamese, pho is life, love and all things that matter. We treasure pho, and most of us have loved it since the day we were old enough to hold a pair of chopsticks. The pho itself is actually a noodle made from the finest white rice. The pho is then topped with thin slices of beef. The rich, vibrant broth is produced after long hours of simmering in the finest beef and bone marrow. This flavorful broth is then poured onto the pho. The rich bowl of pho is then topped with onions, cilantro and green onions. Pho is then served with a side dish of bean sprouts, limes, spikes of basil, and sliced green chili to create a healthy, delicious, and satisfying meal. Pho provides a delicious one-dish meal for your breakfast, lunch or even dinner. Pho in every Vietnamese family is a must, much in the same way as pasta is an inextricable part of Italian culinary tradition and culture.”

After lunch, the Binh Tay Market offers more local culture. I take particular interest in the full range of street vendors selling fruit and vegetables that line the entrance to the market. As I continue to walk through the market and around the surrounding streets, I encounter poverty like never before. It appears that each home functions as a store by day and home by night with the amount of people inhabiting the homes far exceeding any reasonable capacity. I feel hot and sticky and grimy just looking at the population density in this area. There are naked children playing in the streets in puddles of liquid that are indistinguishable from one another. The areas around and in between the puddles are laden with garbage. Although a bit unsettling, this is also very real and makes me feel even more in touch and connected to my surroundings.

Of all the things I have seen today, what I find most interesting to me is the people I have encountered. Their warmth is overwhelming. I have had people tap me on my shoulder while I ride along on my cyclo and they pass on their motorbike just to say hello and practice their limited English by asking me where I am from and how old I am. After I respond, they smile and drive away. Their sincere smiles have an impact on me and make me feel good inside. It is fascinating to see the excitement young children and adults receive from saying hello to a Western traveler. The children are adorable. Due to their incredible persistence, I feel obligated to buy useless things. In one instance, a 7 or 8 year-old girl approached me and showed me all 15 things she had in her bag. She pulled one item after another out of her bag and continued to nod her head as she heard me respond “No” after “No”. She showed no sign that she would stop or leave me alone. I finally bought a paper fan off of her for 1$. Her smile was worth it. A few people even grab me by my arm just to touch me. However, my fondest memory is the result of a chance meeting with a woman outside the Giac Lam Pagoda named Quien.

Ethnically Chinese, Quien is an accountant by day and teaches English as a second language at night. She approaches me as I exit the pagoda and politely asks if she can have a few minutes of my time. She wants to ask me some questions regarding the correct pronunciation of some English words. All she has with her is a Vietnamese book with English translation on the side margin of each page. This is not a textbook. It is a novel and is the only resource she either has available to her or can afford. This is the lone study guide that Quien uses to improve her English so that she can effectively teach the language to others. I try my best to explain to her what some terms and phrases mean that are listed in her book. She wants to know what “rallying the troops” means in addition to the words “scratch” and “crack”. Given her very limited vocabulary, it is almost impossible for me to explain what “rallying the troops” means. She seems to be a very sweet woman and she is so eager to learn. Before long, one of her students passes by and asks if he can join our conversation. Ironically, Quien is the teacher yet it is much easier for me to converse with her student. As a shower passes, we stand under an awning outside the pagoda and talk for nearly 30 minutes. If I had 2 hours to spare, Quien and her student would have been happy to continue our conversation and absorb as much as possible about the English language and my culture. Quien gives me her phone number and offers to show me around the city as a token of her appreciation for me spending time with her. Although I doubt that time will permit this to happen, this is a sweet gesture when I should be the one thanking her for the 30 minutes of her time that she gave to me.

The warmth of the Vietnamese people is what makes this country special. In my memories of Saigon, I won’t forget my cyclo driver, Quien, the friendly monks or the smiling children. Despite seeing sometimes deplorable conditions and situations that an outsider might think look hopeless, the Vietnamese persevere and that is why their country has prevailed from its past conflicts and continues to grow and evolve. I think that their warm demeanor and optimism are keys to their development. I experienced a lot today and much of what I have seen makes me feel good about the world and has erased many of the perceptions that I may have had.