Facing the Dragon - Chapter 8

After an early rise, I make my way directly to the water. Today will be spent at sea boating and snorkeling.

I walk across the dock to get to the boat through a mini market filled with people selling everything from water to fruit to fishing bait. There is adequate opportunity here for every boater to equip themselves with the supplies needed for a day on the open water. Two women accompany us on the boat for the sole purpose of giving us manicures, pedicures and massages. The cost is 1$ per service. This is a pleasant, yet peculiar surprise.

As we make our way out from the shore, I am immediately drawn to the water and its aquamarine color. Glancing up from the water, the beauty in the horizon is all the more stunning as our boat moves farther and farther away from shore and the surrounding hills come in full view. As I sit and stare into the abyss, Sebastian taps me on the shoulder and asks me what I think about the girls on the boat. I smirk and say, “It is nice having women on the boat to give us massages.” He nods and laughs, and says “Chris, I got a massage last night that was absolutely wonderful. You really need to get one at some point during the trip.” Sebastian rises, chuckles and slaps me on the back as he walks away, remarking “Whatever the price is, if you want some extras, tip them at least 5 dollars.” I laugh to myself and wonder whether Sebastian’s remark is based on hearsay or firsthand experience. If I was a betting man, I would go with the latter.

After 45 minutes cruising out to sea, we arrive at some fluorescent green patches of coral. The captain tosses out the anchor, indicating to us that we will be snorkeling in this area. I am not really a man of the sea, but there would have been no reason for me to board this boat if I wasn’t going to get in the water and take a gander at what was floating around. I put on my fins, mask and snorkel and jump in the water. During the hour that I linger in the warm water, I see many colorful fish in addition to pretty blue coral. One of the fish is long and yellow and has the shape of a ruler with a pointy ending. The visibility is good as the water is very clear. The only thing I haven’t enjoyed is the rather large gulp of seawater I swallowed. It is easy to see how a few mouthfuls of seawater could result in a distressing and potentially fatal ending.

Upon returning to the boat, I sit down and relax while perusing through my guidebook. One of the women seems to be looking at me intently and smiling every time I glance in her direction. She asks me repeatedly if I am interested in a massage. After being asked numerous times, I decide to take her up on her offer. However, instead of a massage, I opt for a pedicure and manicure. I would like a massage but decide against getting one in such a small, public setting in full view of everyone else on the boat. I don’t want to tempt myself and don’t entirely trust myself either. After she finishes with the manicure and pedicure, it is time for lunch. I am all the more famished as I have been staring squarely at the captain cutting up all sorts of fresh seafood while my hands and feet were being attended to.

After so many meals in Vietnam, there is no reason for me to be surprised by the amazing creations one can make with two small mounds of charcoal and a few woks. Yet, I am still amazed. The captain, who also serves as the chef, and another cook dressed in nothing but bikini shorts stir fry fresh prawns, cuttlefish, and various different types of whitefish and vegetables to my delight. The fresh prawns are delicious and the vegetable and cuttlefish stir fry makes everyone very happy. Other things we enjoy include a fish stew cooked in tomato sauce, a fresh green bean salad, French bread and fresh fruit.

Our boat captain is an energetic, unique character. His constant joking seems to bother a few people, but it has made the trip more enjoyable. He seems to have an affinity for my things as he had my watch on earlier and now has my shoes on. He is really enamored with my aqua socks that he has on his feet. I would like to offer them to him as a gift but I think I will need them again in the coming days.

We arrive back in Nha Trang in the mid-afternoon. Fortunately, there is still enough time for me to explore the city. Rather than head back towards the hotel for a rest in my room or by the hotel pool, I decide that a tour of the city sounds more exciting to me. I see the cyclo driver that I was approached by yesterday on the street in front of our hotel. He recognizes me as I walk up and minutes later, I am climbing aboard his cyclo. As we speed away in the direction of the Long Son Pagoda, I think to myself that the cyclo drivers and street hawkers seem to be a lot less persistent the farther we move away from Saigon.

The huge White Buddha seated on the hillside above the Long Son pagoda in the northwest of town is Nha Trang's major landmark. It was built in 1963 to symbolize the Buddhist struggle against the repressive Diem regime, and around its lotus-shaped pedestal are carved images of the monks and nuns that set fire to themselves in protest.

Stone gate-posts topped by white orchids mark the entrance to the pagoda. Inside the pagoda, an impressive 700 hundred kilogram bronze Buddha stands at the head of the altar. After paying homage to the Buddha inside the pagoda, I walk around the outside of the pagoda to find the 152 step staircase that ends at the White Buddha. I stretch my legs and climb up all 152 steps accompanied by two 16 year old girls who use their excellent English to joke and flirt with me. Of course, this means that I have to buy some post cards from them, but their company is worth a few dong. They, like many male and female Vietnamese that I meet, are interested in my dating status. These two girls tell me that I should come back to Nha Trang for my honeymoon.

Returning from the pagoda to my cyclo driver, I encounter a mother holding her infant child out to me and offering a coke for sale. I don’t know what to do. I buy a coke from her and in return she offers me her child to hold. Both of the girls with me, in addition to the mother, seem to take delight in seeing me hold the child. All I feel is uncomfortable. While the child is cute, I don’t know why I was handed the baby in the first place. The child is hanging onto my Rough Guide to Vietnam book as tightly as I am clutching onto her. After handing the baby back to her mother, I jump back on my cyclo.

The last stop on this short tour is the impressive Nha Trang Cathedral. Mass is in session when I arrive and I am lucky enough to hear the entire congregation chanting what I believe to be the “Our Father” in Vietnamese. Given all of the Buddhist temples I have seen over the last few days, it is almost weird to see a Catholic mass, which I am much familiar with, in session.

I have more seafood for dinner as I eat beachside with some of my fellow travelers. The food, beer and scenery all create a relaxing atmosphere. One of my fellow travelers, Michael, is talked into buying a t-shirt off of a quick-thinking woman who engages in conversation with us. This talkative woman gives new definition to the term hard-working.

After Michael shows interest in a particular T-shirt, she goes through her bag and realizes that she does not have the extra large size that he has requested. She tells him that she will be back in a few minutes with a shirt that will fit him perfectly. It must have been nearly a mile that she ran as she was gone for over 20 minutes. When she arrives back with the T-shirt in hand, she is breathing heavily. At this point, it is impossible for Michael to decline purchasing the shirt after seeing the hard work this woman was willing to put in to make a sale.

Over the course of our conversation with this woman, she is able to answer some questions regarding a topic that has puzzled me for some time. Ever since I arrived in Vietnam, I have noticed sealed plastic bags full of water on almost every table that I sit at. Now, I finally understand why they are there. It seems that many people use a plastic bag full of water as a deterrent against pesky flies. When a fly encounters a bag of water, it sees its own reflection and flies away in fear. While a plastic bag of water isn’t the most attractive centerpiece, it is cost effective and necessary, as the heat and humidity brings many insects with it.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 7

Today, I endure another long and interesting drive as we move closer to the central part of Vietnam. There is not better way to appreciate the beauty of a country then to drive through the heart of it.

Along the way, we stop in Phan Rang and visit the Pol Klong Garai Cham Towers. These towers are as ancient as they are beautiful. Dating back to the turn of the 14th century and the rule of King Jaya Simharvarman III, they are part of the remaining legacy of the Kingdom of Champa, an Indianized empire that ruled parts of central and southern Vietnam for over 14 centuries. Walking around this area, I feel like I am an archaeologist doing research for a paper. The puppet-like statue of the Cham King Po Klong Garai reminds me of something from a film like Raiders of the Lost Ark.

We move on to a quaint area and enjoy a peaceful, enjoyable and satisfying lunch. With scrumptious French rolls, vegetables and fruit to choose from, there isn’t anything else I need. I grab a roll and stuff it full of ripe avocado, onion, tomato and cucumber and sprinkle salt and pepper over the top. I also have a piece of dragon fruit and 2 small bananas. I am content in every sense of the word as I peer at a patch of palm trees while walking back onto the bus.

We are now in route to Nha Trang but the clouds look threatening and it seems that a storm is imminent. Given the roughshod state of the roads, I am interested to see how our driver will handle the terrain during a storm. The storm passes though and the rains never come. I am a bit disappointed as I would like to see Qui, our driver, try and navigate us through a heavy tropical storm.

It is a couple hours later now and we have finally arrived in Nha Trang. It feels great to be off of the bus and at our next destination. I am excited so I quickly check into the hotel, toss my bags into the corner of the room and make my way out to Nha Trang’s Municipal Beach for a stroll. The mountain backdrop and distant islands in the background offer a beautiful setting for a walk down the beach. There are packs of Vietnamese children, many of which are probably on vacation with their families, playing in the sand and in the sea. The children seem to find me and my pale, white skin particularly interesting as they stare, smile and wave at me. I take a brief swim in the South China Sea’s warm water near a father and his young daughter that are playing in the water near me. The friendliness of the Vietnamese people continues to amaze me. I have conversations with 4 different people who approach me, wanting to know where I come from and what I think of their country. One man from Saigon who I converse with for nearly 15 minutes on the beach tells me that he could introduce me to a beautiful woman in Saigon who would like me very much. I laugh and tell him that I wish I would have met him while I was in Saigon, as the thought of meeting a beautiful Vietnamese woman is becoming more enticing to me as each day passes.

As I float and relax in the sea, I begin a discussion with a Vietnamese man named Henry. We speak for quite a while about Vietnam and reveal a bit about our lives to each other. As we speak, two things stand out to me about Henry. First, he is fluent in English with a very faint accent. The second thing that stands out to me is his name. I think to myself, “Henry is not a Vietnamese name.” I probe a bit more and he confesses that Henry is the English name that he adopted when he moved to Cicero, Illinois. Cicero! This town is less that 10 miles from the last apartment I rented in Chicago a couple years back. I am shocked to have such a random meeting on a beach in Nha Trang with a man who lives in such close proximity to my hometown in Chicago. Henry explains that he is in Vietnam to visit extended family in Saigon and his wife’s immediate family, who still live in Nha Trang. His son is with him and he is enjoying scooping sand with a small shovel. Henry is 38 and he spent the first 21 years of his life in Saigon. He has some good stories for me, with one of them being his profession. He is a magician.

On this evening, I am lucky enough to see a real storm while sitting seaside. The monsoon comes and goes quickly but it is a storm of immense power. Even though we eat dinner under a covered terrace, we still get a bit wet due to the powerful, blowing rain. Seeing a storm from this vantage point gives me a unique opportunity to see real, natural beauty. It is a different kind of beauty than a sunset or a green pasture, but it is one that is just as impressive in its own right. The sound of thunder and the sight of lightning over the South China Sea in the distance keep me fixated on all that is going on around me as I finish one final 333 beer before I am called to bed by my exhausted body.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 6

Last evening, I had a regrettable dinner at a local hotel. The food wasn’t terrible but it felt like the restaurant was trying to make tourists happy with Vietnamese food that was a bit less than authentic. As a result, our meal was pretty average. That means a lot coming from me as I am one of those foodies who is complimentary of almost anything that is put in front of me. Nonetheless, the meal was not a complete loss as I had an extremely interesting conversation with Sebastian, my 74 year old traveling companion from Adelaide. As we shared a bottle of wine, he shared with me his thoughts on Vietnamese women. Sebastian’s strong curiosity in this subject is becoming more apparent to me as each day passes.

After dinner, I went out for a few beers with my fellow travelers Andy, Carol, Michael and Erin. Andy is the most relaxed person that I think I have ever met. He doesn’t say much, but has a gentle and approachable disposition. He just seems to be taking it all in with a philosophy of “If it has already been said, there is no need to say it again.” Andy and Carol are a couple from Australia in their 40’s who have been working in the Middle East in Oman for the last 7 years. It seems that the tax benefits of working in Oman make this a great professional option if you like to take home exactly what you earn. Andy is a helicopter mechanic and Carol is a physical therapist. Erin and Michael are a couple in their late 20’s from Melbourne who love to travel. They were big independent travelers until they met and now they travel as a couple. Michael is a forklift operator at one of Melbourne’s primary breweries, Carlton, and Erin is a travel agent. We shared some good stories over quite a few drinks.

As for this day, I did my very best to experience as much of Dalat as possible. We are leaving tomorrow and have only one full day in the city after arriving last evening. This day of exploration began with a trip to the Lat village which is approximately 30 miles outside of Dalat.

The Lat people are village people in every sense of the word. Interestingly enough, they are not Vietnamese as their origin is not really known. They have their own language, and make a living primarily by growing rice and vegetables and weaving blankets, bags and other apparel that they sell, primarily to the tourists who visit their village.

After arriving in the village, we are immediately approached by a group of children, their hands filled with bags, blanket and rugs that were woven by their mother’s, sisters and aunts. In particular, 3 children seemed to be drawn to me. My intuition proved to be correct as these 3 children followed me, never too far behind, for the entire 90 minutes that I walked through their village. I did purchase a bag and blanket from them, but they continued to follow behind anyway. At some point, I just became numb to their presence.

The majority of the village residents live in thatch roofed stilt houses that are not equipped with power. Their modest homes would be merely shacks in a more developed country. The people I met were very open to outsiders as they allowed us to walk through their yards and in some cases, into their homes. I feel like a voyeur as I walk through someone’s home with my primary objective being to see how they live. Although I feel like I am imposing on them, the homeowners are warm and genuine and make me feel as if I am an old friend visiting after a long time apart. There doesn’t seem to be any cynicism or distrust as I am here to visit their village and see how they live and they are here to welcome me as their guests. As we walk through the backyard of a home, a group of children smiles at us. They seem interested, yet confused as to why this group of strangers is walking though their yard while they play with their siblings. Their parents are cooking food over an open fire and what I perceive to be their blind grandfather is washing his clothing. As I walk by this old man, he drops the bar of soap he is using to wash his clothes. No one is paying attention to him. I stop for a moment and watch him as he reaches down to locate the bar of soap, grasping at the air nowhere near the soap. Our group begins to move on, but I stop to offer my assistance. I pick up the soap and put it in his hand so that he can continue washing his clothing before catching up with my group.

We move on towards a larger building which houses the two most important public areas in the village. This is where the church and the school reside. I walk into this building and a wave of interested eyes turn in my direction. There are 60 to 70 children preparing for a church study group that is about to begin. There is a lot of chatter and laughter amongst the children before things suddenly get quiet and the class begins.

After spending 10 minutes touring the church and school, we exit the building and continue on. We only make it a few steps before the priest comes running out of the church to catch up with our group. He insists that we need to spend some time chatting with him in his quarters. It doesn’t really feel like we have any choice but to oblige him so we follow him back into the church and into his room. The priests command of English is surprisingly good so we are able to easily converse with him. He is a very friendly and proud man. He speaks with passion and uses many expressions as he explains how the Lat people have persevered. His focus moves from a history of the Lat people to the barrel of rice wine sitting in the corner of the room. He is insistent that each of us drink from the cask of homemade wine that he assures us is wonderful. It is only 10 AM in the morning but it is almost impossible to say no in these circumstances. The barrel of wine is soon passed in my direction. I grab hold of it and raise it to my lips. The wine is strong but the taste is sweet, a bit like Cointreau. The priest doesn’t seem to want anyone to put the barrel down as he makes sure that it continues to be passed from one person to another. It seems that this little session is coming to an end as the other people I am with begin to gather their things together. However, the priest hands the barrel back to me for another drink. The rest of the group rises and walks towards the door. I nod in their direction before taking one last long sip from the barrel. The priest smiles and encourages me to take another. I smile back but realize that this could be an all day session that I don’t have the luxury of partaking in. I grab my water bottle, exchange goodbyes and quickly catch up with the rest of the group.

We walk along, but don’t make it very far before we are greeted by another man who invites us into his home to explain to us some of the customs of the Lat people. We follow him into his extremely basic home which has no furniture, but blankets on the ground that function as beds for him and his family members. The three children inside stare at us like we are aliens when we enter their home; they rarely witness white people sitting in their home. Our host talks in great detail, through a translator, about the significance of the water buffalo to the Lat people. He tells us that during the New Year’s celebration, a water buffalo is sacrificed as part of the biggest party and celebration of the year.

My visit to the Lat village is very intriguing. The curious, interested and smiling faces of the people I encountered made me feel comfortable as they proudly opened their homes and explained their unique culture and customs. The thing that struck me the most is that nearly everyone I encountered had a smile on their face and seemed to be sincerely happy and in great appreciation for what they had. There is a lesson to be learned from this as Western culture is much too focused on the next day or the next purchase in lieu of appreciating the present. The priest we met called us his friends this morning and I believe that he meant what he said. I feel that his words and actions are a good representation of the people of his village.

We return to Dalat for lunch. Dalat is well known throughout Vietnam and others parts of Southeast Asia for its wonderful vegetables. We visited their gigantic vegetable market for lunch. This fantastic market has 2 floors of vegetable counters and stalls filled with a colorful and vast selection of vegetables that are sold to local families, restaurant proprietors and smaller markets that purchase vegetables for resale. As I walk through the market, I see many vegetables that I have never seen, much less eaten. There are green and yellow and orange colored vegetables with protruding spikes and bumps covering them. The avocados and mangoes have a dark deep green color. The smells in the air are as different and interesting as the assortment of vegetables around me.

After inspecting the market for a bit, we make our way upstairs to the second floor where the lunch stalls are located. We order an assortment of different dishes to pass for lunch. Since I am sitting on the other side of the table and am uninvolved in the ordering process, I have no idea what is on the platters that are being placed in front of us. All I know is that there is no meat on any of them. The funny thing is that some of the items on the platters look very much like meat. Some even taste like meat. After eating something that looks and tastes like shrimp, I am pretty convinced that not everything is vegetarian. However, our server assures me that everything is meatless. As it turns out, many of the items that look like meat and seafood are actually tofu formed into the shapes of shrimp and meatballs. They are then fried and cooked with a combination of sauces and vegetables. In some cases, this leaves the tofu with a flavor that can fool you into thinking that what you are eating is actually what you think you it is.

After finishing lunch, we leave the market. I walk out of the market and pass one vendor after another selling fresh mangoes, avocados, flowers and fish in the area surrounding the entrance to the market. I am amazed by all of the live seafood for sale. There are numerous kinds of different fish in buckets and live frogs and eels. This is the grocery store, specialty store and convenience store encompassed within one massive group of stalls that cover an area that is half the size of a city block.

My mind is still buzzing from the activity of the market, but I am ready to see more of the city. A few of us venture off to locate a tour office that I noticed earlier in the day which was advertising scooter tours of the areas surrounding the city. We enter the office and haggle over the price of the tour. I don’t haggle much though as 8 dollars sounds like a very fair price for a 4 hour tour of the city. It is only a few minutes later before I am clutching onto the back of my guide as he speeds away on his motorbike. My driver speaks a bit of English which is more than I can say for the guides of the two other people who have accompanied me on this tour.

Our first stop is at the Lam Ty Ni pagoda. This is where the so called “mad monk”of Dalat lives. This monk who lives here, Vien Thuc, is a monk of all trades. He is a self proclaimed poet, gardener, builder and artist. However, his proudest achievement is his painting. He entered this pagoda at the age of 10 and began his auspicious career as an artist with some finger daubing on the walls. His studio behind the pagoda now has over 100,000 pieces of some very common, and some very unique pieces of art. Vien Thuc offers us a guided tour of the pagoda pointing out many aspects of his home and studio.

As I follow Vien Thuc around the pagoda, I find his behavior to be peculiar. At numerous points during our tour, he stops, thinking he has made a humorous point, and break outs into the type of wicked laughter that might scare a timid person. He is quite a character. I purchase a simple canvas that catches my eye. It features two bamboo stalks in the midst of some nice hues of brown, tan and green. He signs the painting on the spot and pulls his Polaroid camera out to snap two photos of the piece of art I purchased for his next album. I follow suit and snap a picture of the artist himself.

We can hear the rain pour as we gather our backpacks and rolled up paintings together. My driver, sensing my apprehension to walk into this monsoon, gives me an inquisitive look as if he is wondering if I want to wait until the storm passes before continuing on. Since he is dressed in a rain poncho and prepared for the rain, I make a hasty decision and lead us out into the storm towards our scooters. We jump on and he speeds away into the heavy rain in pursuit of Bao Dai’s Summer Palace. I turn my head and look back into the rain, barely able to recognize the two scooters following behind us. Just then, it occurs to me that I have made the decision that everyone in our group will get wet as we continue on through the storm. The rain doesn’t last long; I assume that my driver anticipated only a brief, passing shower. It doesn’t matter though as the rain is heavy enough to drench us all by the time we arrive at the palace.

Bao Dai was the last emperor of Vietnam and this was his summer palace. There are hordes of Vietnamese tourists at the palace and their children run around creating a completely chaotic, but fun family environment. It is great. I definitely stick out amongst the crowd as I am one of only 3 other non Asian, and most likely non Vietnamese, people outside of our group. Small children shout “Hello” at me constantly as I pass by. As I make my way through the working, reception and festivities rooms in the palace, I notice that I am being followed by a small contingent of young teenage girls. It is a bit strange. After checking myself in a mirror and confirming that my zipper is in fact pulled up and that I don’t have any other glaring issues with my dress, I decide that the only rationale for their behavior is that they must find me attractive. With that thought in mind, I walk on feeling pretty good about myself. It is also possible that my eyes deceived me when I looked in that mirror to check my appearance because a group of teenage boys laugh to themselves after they look at me as I exit the building. Maybe they thought I was attractive too. In any case, I don’t mind being the center of someone’s attention for a few moments.

Continuing on, my driver juts up and over many hilly roads. The views are awe inspiring as I can see one field after another. The green colors of the crops growing here are offset by the colors of dark red clay. I ask my driver to stop for a moment so that I can relax and appreciate the beauty. After snapping a few photos, I hop back on the motorbike and we proceed on towards our last major site of the tour, the Linh Phuoc Pagoda.

What makes this pagoda interesting is the fact that it was constructed from pieces of broken porcelain and china. The idyllic courtyard outside the pagoda houses a startling dragon that was built from 12,000 carefully broken beer bottles. The artwork inside the pagoda is more intricate, with mosaic dragons entwining themselves around the main hall’s pillars. After entering the pagoda, I follow the lead of the worshippers and kneel down and pray for a few moments. Later, as I walk around the pagoda, I am followed by two young Vietnamese boys vacationing with their family. Their constant stares make me feel much like the foreigner that I am. My white skin seems to be drawing their attention. Eventually, we exchange smiles and hellos and I decide to give them the friendship bracelets I purchased earlier in the day from one of the children in the Lat village. As I prepare to leave the pagoda and begin to make my way back towards the scooters, I am approached by an affectionate, newly married couple. They make a gesture towards me, indicating that they want me to snap a picture of them in front of the pagoda. I am more than happy to snap a photo of two people so clearly in loving adoration of each other.

The last stretch of the trip is leisurely and scenic as we slowly cruise around the lake and make our way back to our hotel. Along the way, we stop briefly to see Dalat’s train station where I sample some of the strawberry wine and sugared strawberries which Dalat is famous for. Both are delicious. I see more than I ever expected to see during my Dalat motorbike excursion and decide to give my driver a generous tip and a warm handshake before retiring to my room for a shower.

Tonight, it is my turn to pick a restaurant and I turn to my trusty Rough Guide for some advice. My choice proves to be a good, if not lucky one as we have one of our better meals to date. I have spring rolls, boiled rice and a grill up that consists of beef, tomato, onion and a fried egg. The dishes are accompanied by soy and fish sauce as you can never have a true Vietnamese meal without these condiments. The total price is 5 dollars and that includes 2 large beers. This meal more than makes up for the not so special meal we had on the previous evening.

During dinner, I sit by my friends, Claire and Sebastian. These guys are classic! As I begin to eat my meal, Sebastian points out that my potted rice has a crusty top to it. He tells me that he thinks the crusty top might be good in his soup. I look at him, a bit surprised by his overtures towards my meal, and tell him that he can have it. I sense that he is also peering at the mountain of spring rolls that I have on my plate and tell him to take some of those also as I could never eat the entire portion. There is something about these two old men that I really enjoy and I seem to be spending more and more time with them.

A few of the people I am traveling with have come down with some stomach problems. One in particular, Len, has been horribly sick ever since the meal we shared a few days ago in Saigon. He hasn’t eaten much the last few days and had an embarrassing middle of the night accident the previous evening that he doesn’t seem to really want to discuss. All he said is that he owes whoever cleaned his room an apology and a large tip. I am lucky and very happy that I am not having these types of problems. After eating those spring rolls in the Cholon market in Saigon and given the fact that I have started to take ice in my drinks the last few days, this would not be a surprise. Some might say I am taking unnecessary risks but the reality is, warm pop doesn’t do much to quench your thirst on a 90 to 100 degree day.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 5

My last morning in Saigon! As I prepare to leave, I have mixed feelings -- sentimental on one hand and excited on the other.

Before I leave, I have a few final encounters with girls and boys trying to hawk post cards, stamps, fans and anything else a tourist doesn’t need. I buy some post cards from an adorable teenage girl. Smart, sassy and speaking excellent English, she seems to have a retort for me every time I respond with ‘I already have those cards’ or ‘I already have a scented fan’. According to her, there is surely some reason why I need to buy something that she is selling. Whether it is for my non existent girlfriend or wife or my friend or sister, she has all the answers. I tell her that she speaks excellent English and she tells me that she went to school for it. Wanting to remember our encounter, I ask her if I can take a picture of her. She poses outside my hotel and I snap a photo. We chat for a bit longer and have a nice conversation during which she tells me that she hopes to work in a hotel or restaurant after she completes her schooling in English and computers. Her name is Ly, and her spirit and endearing personality are contagious.

Across the road, I recognize the cyclo driver that I have come to know quite well over the past few days. We approach each other, shake hands and say our goodbyes as if we are old friends. It feels strange as I act as if I am saying goodbye to a friend who I will see again soon, yet reality says that I will most likely never see my friend’s face again.

It is hard to fully describe the depth of the impact that my experiences in Saigon have had on me. I guess my eyes, heart and instincts know the best.

What I will remember most though is the people and their smiles.

Finally departing from Saigon, we begin a long day of traveling in route to Dalat. Located in the Southern Highlands, Dalat is Vietnam’s premier hill town. Dalat served as a mountain retreat for the French during their occupation and attempted colonization of Vietnam during the period of 1948-1954. These days, it is popular as a honeymoon and tourist destination, primarily for the Vietnamese.

The journey to Dalat is not a direct one though. It is filled with many stops along the way. I am hopeful that this ride is just as enjoyable and educational as the one to Cu Chi a couple days earlier.

Our first stop is at a floating fishing village. The people that live in this village all work as fishermen. They make a living by fishing from the freshwater river that they literally live on top of. The water flows into the river down from the highlands and it is startlingly dark. I use the term startling because the fish that come from the river are the main form of sustenance for the villagers. There are numerous floating huts on the river that function as the very basic homes of the families that live in this area. Bad weather can be catastrophic to these modest residences. It is interesting to get a view into the lives of the people living here. Men and women paddle the river in small canoe-like boats with fishing nets in hand. They propel the boats with oars that are powered by their feet instead of their arms. By propelling the oars with their legs, much like a cyclist does on their bike, this leaves one’s arms free to manage the net and assist with catching fish. Moving their hands quickly and fastidiously, the net is pulled out of and pushed into the water at a rapid, machine like pace. This process continues until there is enough fish to feed the family and make some modest sales at a nearby market. Fishing is an integral part of Vietnamese culture and fish are one of the staples of the Vietnamese diet. The Vietnamese people are experts at fishing any body of water available to them, including streams, rivers, lakes and the sea, for anything they can find.

As we head back toward the bus to continue our trek onward, I make eye contact with two innocent and adorable children that are playing in the water that their parents are trawling from. A boy and a girl that appear to be siblings by their appearance and familiarity with each other approach me with glowing smiles shouting “Hello, Hello” to indicate to me that they speak at least a few words of English. I respond with “Chao”, indicating that I also speak “some” Vietnamese. We continue to exchange waves and smiles and they follow me all the way back to the bus. As I approach the bus, I contemplate what to do. I would like to give them some sort of small gift but don’t have anything in my pockets. I decide to run on the bus and see what I have in my day pack. As I rummage through my bag in the bus, I look up and can see the two children waving at me from the window. I smile at them and wave back. I am unable to find anything gift worthy in my bag but do find some small bottles of shampoo that I took from the hotel for my own use. Admittedly, these aren’t the greatest gifts but they will have to do. As I emerge from the bus with my hands full of small bottles, I can see the excitement in the children’s faces. I unscrew the cap on one of the bottles and try to get them to smell the shampoo as I hold the bottle up to my nose and then hold the bottle up to the girls’ nose for her to smell. Her perplexed look tells me that she has no idea what I am talking about. I hold the bottle up to her nose again and this time also rub the head of her brother to indicate to them that the soap is for their hair. They smile excitedly indicating to me that they understand and say, “Thank you.” Using more sign language, I suggest to them that I would like them to pose for a picture for me. They nod and smile and pose for me before I snap a shot that will be a memoir of our encounter.

Soon after leaving the fishing village, we make another stop at a rubber tree plantation. I see farmers hard at work harvesting latex from a few of the hundreds of rubber trees on the plantation. It is an interesting process as the trees that are being harvested have a dish that is attached to their base. The fresh latex drips into the dish after the bark is peeled back. Vietnam is one of the largest producers of rubber in the world. This stop was particularly enlightening to me since, naively, I didn’t know where rubber came from and had no idea that rubber trees even existed.

Continuing on, our next stop is for lunch at a small waterfall. Upon arrival, my first impression is that this looks like a quaint and pleasant place to relax for a bit. The waterfall is surrounded by a path that is lined with cultivated flowers and shrubs. Remembering my time in the mountains of Switzerland some years back, I remove my shirt and douse my head and upper torso into the cool, refreshing water that runs from the surrounding hills. We have a simple, healthy lunch consisting of fresh fruit, vegetables and French bread. The cucumbers, onions, avocado and tomatoes are beautiful and the pineapple, mango and dragon fruit satisfy my sweet tooth. This is a welcome change from the food I have been eating the past few days. While the food has been scrumptious, I am slowly but surely finding out that eating rice 3 times a day can have quite a shock on your digestive system.

Over lunch, I converse with Claire, a 79 year-old Aussie from Adelaide. Claire has always been an avid traveler and used to love taking adventurous trips all over the world with his wife prior to her passing a few years back. Nonetheless, Claire has continued his travels alone and now takes a yearly 6-8 week trip with his friend Sebastian, whom he met on a trip some years ago. These two single grandfathers are now globetrotting travel buddies. During our conversation, Claire confessed that he misses his wife dearly but feels fortunate that he has been able to find a friend who shares his profound interest in travel. Claire is inspiring. His life and his experiences are a breath of fresh air to me. He has 3 sons and has incurred 3 heart attacks and 4 bypasses but he continues to live his life like a young man as he makes his away across the world from Southeast Asia to South America. His joy of life is evident in the fact that he is on this trip. I sincerely hope that I am blessed with the health and opportunity to continue to explore the world when I am Claire’s age. However, health and opportunity aside, the most important aspect of really living is your mind frame and outlook.

Our next stop on the road to Dalat is a quick and caffeinated one. We stop at a coffee and teahouse to sample 2 of Vietnam’s biggest exports. It is surprising to me to find out that Vietnam harvests and produces vast quantities of supposedly well respected tea and coffee. One thing I can definitely attest to is that the coffee is very strong. It was suggested to me that I drink my coffee with lots of sugar. After one sip of coffee, I understand why. You need to put something in the cup to overcome the bitterness and strength of the coffee. I add more sugar. The sesame cookies offered go well with the coffee and the lotus and jasmine teas are both very good. I prefer the lighter taste of the tea to the harsh taste of the coffee though. Despite the 90-degree weather, I find these hot beverages to be refreshing, although I could be mistaking all the caffeine pumping through my veins for a refreshed feeling. As we enjoy this nice break from the road, we are told that we will have one more stop at a waterfall before arriving in Dalat.

DambRi Waterfall is not an easy spot to get to. This was mentioned to us but as we begin to travel and I continue to look at my watch, I wonder if going two hours out of our way to see a waterfall is really worth it. It has been well over 8 hours since we left Saigon and I am feeling travel weary and tired. My thoughts fail to take into account that the journey is part of the experience, not just the end destination. The roads we are traveling on are surrounded by coffee and mulberry plantations in addition to cottage silk farms. The smell of raspberries is also in the air as they also grow in this area. Amidst all this beauty, nothing can match the surreal scene of a group of children directing a herd of water buffalo that is blocking the path of our bus. As I stand and watch what is unfolding before me, I don’t even have time to think. Our bus is stopped and I have de-boarded the bus onto the road. In front of our bus, two girls who look to be between the ages of 8 and 10 are attempting to guide a large herd of 20-30 water buffalo across the red clay road that we are driving on. Our bus driver has no choice but to stop because this huge herd is moving very slowly. I snap one photo after another as I stand in the hot sun. I realize how lucky I am to be in this very place at this particular moment. The setting is something out of this world with the children, water buffalo, red clay road and greenery surrounding us. These are the moments that I travel so far and long to experience. I am not sure that a non traveler can understand the significance of seeing something so simple, but special at the same time. However, anyone who has passed through a small village or local community and experienced a culture that operates so vastly differently than the one that they are accustomed to or even knew existed can surely understand.

Eventually, the herd passes and we move onto the waterfall. I did not expect to encounter a 25-meter waterfall in Vietnam. Maybe in Jamaica or Hawaii, but Vietnam? This is a welcome surprise and a great place to take some pictures and have a quick rest. I cool off under a nice stream of water and enjoy a moment of much needed silence while watching a local man and his daughter enjoy the natural surroundings.

The amount of beauty and hidden treasures that this country possesses is remarkable. I am beginning to believe that the concept of Vietnam being a huge jungle was invented by the American movie industry. Undoubtedly, there is much jungle terrain in Vietnam, but there is much more than just that. In fact, the country is very mountainous.

As we move into the Southern hill town of Dalat, the holiday charm of this town is immediately apparent. Dalat is a Vietnamese vacation and honeymoon spot, so this is not a surprise. Given the French connection to this town and the mini Eiffel Tower that was built here, Dalat is sometimes called the Paris of the East. While I doubt I will agree with that assessment, Dalat does appear to be quite nice based on first impressions. The Vietnamese themselves have high expectations for Dalat. They expect more and more visitors and are considering building an airport nearby. My initial thoughts are that this will be a nice change of pace from the last couple days. Our hotel is situated at the base of a quaint lake. I am excited.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 4

“The U.S. expeditionary forces have gone so far as to consider the Vietnamese people as low-class creatures and that the fact of killing them didn’t constitute a crime – just like the spray of DDT poisonous substances to destroy the insects. They can’t enjoy any right whatsoever, even the right of ownership and the right to live.”

- Reporter Richard Hammer in his book entitled “Un Matin dans la guerre” Fayard, 1970, 102

“Yet we were wrong, terribly wrong. We owe it to our future generations to explain why. It was that mistake that has caused severe results toward the country and people of Vietnam.”

- Robert S. McNamara, former US Defense Secretary (In Retrospect – The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam)

These are quotes and excerpts from books that I wrote down while visiting the War Remnants Museum in Saigon today. This museum definitely uses shock tactics by displaying horrific photographs depicting ill treatment of Vietnamese citizens by U.S. forces. However, to discard what is on display at this museum as purely propaganda would not only be foolish, it would be a lie. I am appalled and in a state of disbelief at what I am seeing because these photographs are not fabricated, they are real. They are very real. Most Americans know very little about the Vietnam War. This chapter of American history is one of our best kept secrets. All we really know is how many American soldiers died and how many Vietnamese soldiers we killed. My high school history class told me nothing of the reality of this war. Then again, American high school history books are not written to tell the truth, as they are a form of propaganda themselves. To this day, it seems to me that Vietnam is a topic that the United States government prefers to avoid. I think many government officials who know the real facts surrounding this war would rather wait until seemingly no one remembers this calamity than to revisit our failures and attempt to learn from the mistakes of our past. Although Vietnam is an entirely different situation, I would be surprised to find many Germans who beam up with excitement when the subject of World War II comes up.

The first objects I encounter in the museum are a tank, 2 fighter jets and a large anti aircraft machine gun. I have never seen anything like this other than on TV. The size of one of the bombs on display leaves me in absolute awe. I can’t even imagine the size of the area that a bomb this size would destroy. My father would have found the UH-1 Huey Helicopter interesting since he worked on these models when he was stationed in Vietnam (in Plei Ku). However, the physical war remnants only keep my interest for so long. A strong sensation inside me is telling me that there is much more waiting for me in the wing of the museum that is inside the building surrounded by this courtyard. I listen to my intuition and walk inside.

I walk through the museum and see some truly horrible and disgusting photographs, deformed fetuses in jars and statistics that give me a better indication of just how catastrophic the Vietnam War was, especially for the Vietnamese. One particularly harrowing picture depicts a unit of American soldiers posing with the severed head of a VC soldier. Some of the American soldiers are smiling as if they are embarrassed while others pose with a cool, tough looking expression on their face.

As I walk around the museum and view the different exhibits, one thought in my mind blends into another. I think that I know more than the average American about the Vietnam War but I am starting to realize that I really know nothing at all. My knowledge is based on what I have read in some books that I think gave an objective account of what happened during the war. I am confused, very confused. The hardest thing for me to understand about the Vietnam War is why my country resorted to chemical warfare. We used Agent Orange, napalm and phosphorous on the people and countryside in mass quantities. While I do understand that huge ground sweeps of chemical warfare are theoretically a quick and easy way to pound an enemy into oblivion, isn’t there more thought that goes into making a decision of this magnitude? Is there an objective look at the costs of making this type of decision and the repercussions of making it? What about the costs to future societies, the environment and unborn children? What about the ethical costs?

Many people claim that the Vietnamese would have also used these chemicals if they had them at their disposal. I disagree with those who believe this to be the case. I do not believe that the Vietnamese would use this inhumane form of warfare on their own land knowing that it would result in decades of detrimental affects on the environment and many generations of people. I think about the world I live in today and our never-ending concern that the so called “rogue nations” may get their hands on chemical weapons. I think about all the news publications that talk of the imminent threat of terrorists and rogue nations detonating a bomb loaded with chemical weapons in a subway station, sports stadium or during a battle against ground soldiers in their own country. I think about Iraq and I think about Iran. Finally, I think about the United States. After all, the United States was the first country to use chemical weapons on a massive scale during the Vietnam War decades ago. This is a fact that too many people seem to want to forget. I am left with a sense of irony and a great sense of hypocrisy.

Chemical warfare has horrible short-term and long-term effects that can literally set back a society for decades. Vietnamese citizens and Vietnamese and American soldiers can certainly attest to this. As citizens of the world, we can only hope that these weapons are never used again on the scale that they were used in Vietnam. Visiting this museum has been an emotional, eye-opening and interesting experience. I am sure I am not the only person for whom the experience evoked pain, tears, sorrow and a certain degree of guilt. I can see the damage that was done to this country and being an American, I feel that I will always be indebted to Vietnam in some way. There is no retribution for the damage inflicted and I sincerely believe that those willing to take an objective look at the facts will come to the same conclusion.

In quite contrast, I walk over to the Notre Dame Cathedral immediately after exiting the War Remnants Museum. In the northern reach of Dong Khoi, the 19th century Notre Dame Cathedral stands in the middle of Saigon, almost as if it is naked. The Cathedral is impressive and is an extremely popular place for tourists, beggars, cyclo drivers and worshippers. After leaving the cathedral, I decide to visit the Jade Emperor Pagoda. This is a place of worship for a much different religion. Upon entering the pagoda, I see fantastic statues that hold burning incense sticks which contribute to a very serene environment. This pagoda was built by the city’s Cantonese community around the turn of the century and is still considered to be Saigon’s most captivating pagoda. From the outside, the pagoda appears to be rather ordinary until one draws closer bringing into view the huge mustaches on the gigantic, imposing statues that stand in front of the pagoda’s entrance. Again, I am left with the impression that Buddhism is a relaxed religion as the symbols, music and general atmosphere in and around the temple make for a tranquil environment.

From here, I hop aboard a cyclo and ask the driver to take me to the Reunification Palace. This seems to be a fitting place to be my last major sight in Saigon as it is considered by many to be the most striking and historically significant building in the city. On April 30th, 1975, North and South Vietnam were reunified here as the South Vietnamese army finally fell after a long, hard fight. Technically, the war ended on that day. In reality, the war continued for many years in the form of torture, discrimination and prejudice against the South Vietnamese. Some of these elements still exist today. Entering the palace, it is hard not to notice the distinctive 70’s feel of the decor. Many of the rooms are drab and feel antiquated but the reception room upstairs looks like it could be the setting for the shooting of a Neil Diamond video, including the tacky beverage refrigerator in the corner of the room. The grounds surrounding the palace are beautifully manicured and maintained with precision by a government that is very proud.

After a short and much needed rest back at the hotel, I head out for dinner with my fellow traveler Len. Len is a 55 year-old Australian psychologist who has been teaching English as part of the Australian Volunteers Association in Laos for the last 2 years. On holiday in Vietnam, Len earns local wages -- which amount to approximately 30 dollars per month -- teaching English in Laos. He is the only foreigner working at a huge school that includes 300 teachers and 30 English teachers. I am particularly intrigued by a story Len shares with me involving an accident he had on his bike that resulted in a severe head wound which caused him to miss 2 weeks of work. He recounts stories of students and fellow teachers who showed up at his home with home-cooked meals in hand for him. His colleagues and students shared what little they had with Len and their generosity has had a lasting effect on him. This is one of the reasons he is still in Laos. It is interesting to find out that Lao’s strict Communist government prohibits Len from receiving any additional compensation for tutoring students during off hours at his home. As a result, his students and others seeking additional instruction in English bring him humble gifts to show their gratitude. In some cases, they bring him 1 bottle of beer or enough coffee grounds for 2 cups of coffee. Len lives a very basic life that is in great contrast to the life he lived in Australia. However, it seems that the challenge of living on such meager means, along with the gratitude he receives from helping the Laotian people he describes as ‘harmless and wonderful’ have brought peace to him and given him the motivation he needs to continue on his plight.

Len’s life is fascinating to me. I cherish meeting people like Len and hearing about their experiences. It makes me think long and hard about my life and what I can do to give back to the world. Helping others is an amazing thing and what you give and receive from having life experiences like Len’s is difficult to comprehend if you haven’t been in a similar environment or had similar experiences.

Regarding the restaurant Len and I dined at this evening; I was especially interested in the restaurant’s kitchen. At one point, I actually walked through the kitchen to get to the bathroom, which was at the far end of the kitchen. This walk rewarded me with an up close and personal view of the extremely basic kitchen that is common to so many Vietnamese restaurants. It is amazing to me that the cooks are able to create such wonderful smells and flavors in such a simple, bare bones environment. There is a countertop with two people chopping meat, fish and vegetables with bottles of sauce and bunches of fresh herbs scattered across the counter. The actual cooking takes place on 3 woks which sit atop piles of glowing charcoal that sit directly on the ground. You can’t buy views like this. Staring in awe at what I see in front of me, it occurs to me that creating a meal is a special, almost holy experience that I take for granted almost every day.

After dinner, I stroll off by myself in the direction of the Caravelle Hotel. The hotel bar at the Caravelle purportedly offers the best views of Saigon in the city and this sounds like a fitting place for me to enjoy a drink on my last night in Saigon. The Caravelle is five star quality all the way. At a cost of 3$ for a local Vietnamese beer, this is one of the most expensive places to buy a drink in the city. The people staying and drinking at the Caravelle are among the more wealthy tourists visiting Saigon. By the looks of them, my guess is that most of these tourists are either Japanese or Korean. The women serving drinks have traditional Vietnamese dresses on and are very attractive. Feeling that I have been glancing in their direction a bit too often, I decide to leave after one beer and retire to my room for one last night of rest in Saigon.

As I lie in bed waiting to fall asleep, I feel a bit sad knowing that I will be leaving Saigon tomorrow. My first experiences in Asia have been in this wonderful city. I am not sure what is ahead of me in the following weeks, but I feel that Saigon will always have a special place in my heart. I have felt the charm of this city and its people and while I am excited to see more of Vietnam, I am also sad to leave. Saigon, the beating heart of Vietnam, has been very, very good to me.

Facing the Dragon - Chapter 3

My eyes are open and my mind is telling me that I should feel drowsy, but for some reason I don’t. My body is still adjusting to the time change and I didn’t sleep much last evening. There was lots of tossing and turning. It almost feels like my body is so excited to wake up and see what kinds of interesting options will be available for breakfast that it makes me forget the fact that I didn’t sleep much the night before and I should be tired.

I have never been a person who can lie my head down and shut my eyes for 7 or 8 hours of uninterrupted, sound sleep. Anyone who has slept in the same bed or room with me can attest to the constant creaking noise coming from my bed that is the result of continuous tossing and turning. When you add 2 additional variables to an already troubling situation, things can quickly go from bad to worse. In addition to my jet lag, Nick, my roommate, snores like an animal. Nick is a 40 year old teacher from Melbourne, Australia who is traveling through Southeast Asia on one year of government leave. He is part of the independent travel group I joined which includes a driver and guide who arrange transportation, accommodations and a few activities. There are 12 people in my travel group and I am the only one who is not Australian. Nick is an enormous man and I have never heard louder noises come from a human being during their so-called resting period. Over the coming weeks, the following early morning ritual seemed to repeat itself without exception:

With my bladder rumbling, I wake up at 2 or 3 AM in the morning. After using the bathroom, I lie back down hoping to get back to sleep. However, I know that I am fighting an uphill battle to once again lose consciousness. After about 20 minutes of listening to Nick snore and trying to jam pieces of rolled up toilet paper into my ear that is not lying on my pillow, I accept the fact that I’m fucked and will have no choice but to drink lots of coffee and coca cola the next day. Eventually, I do fall asleep again but it takes a long time to get to that point. I finally buy ear plugs but they are useless against the sounds coming from big Nick.

The breakfast display this morning has American and British standbys including rashers, pancakes, omelets, baked beans and assorted meats and cheeses. However, I walk right past the Western fare and head straight for the rice gruel, braised pork and chili sauce. Even at 8 AM, the garlicky taste of the pork and the spiciness of the chili taste delicious. After devouring the rice gruel, I head back to the buffet line and fill my plate with fruit. A few pork and shrimp dumplings also find their way onto my plate next to a gorgeous and colorful cornucopia of papaya, dragon fruit, pineapple, lychee and rambutan. Many of these fruits are new to me since they are endemic to this region of the world.

Feeling satisfied and full, I hop aboard our bus and am pleasantly surprised to find out that it is air-conditioned. Today, we are traveling to the Cao Dai Pagoda and the infamous Cu Chi tunnels. This journey is my first of many long and interesting jaunts into what feels to me to be a very naked and very real Vietnam. My interest in seeing the chaos and disorganization of a typical Vietnamese road and road side has been piqued by my experiences of the last couple of days.

Driving along, I am amazed by the seemingly endless small markets, one after the other, lining both sides of the road. Everything, from steel doors and windows for those making home renovations to ducks, geese and French bread for those making home-cooked meals, is for sale. The roads are basic and require serious renovations, but this only makes our trip all the more interesting. We are on what I would describe as a highway but this highway is like no other. Each side of the main road is one endless market that is only broken by some intermittent homes and the occasional apartment building. In the intense heat, it is strange to see women driving around with long pants and sleeves on in addition to masks covering every part of their face beneath their eyes. I presume that they are covering their skin to protect it from the harmful effects of the sun. I find out how foolish, naïve and completely out of touch I am with the environment around me when I bring up this point to some of my fellow travelers.

In actuality, the reason so many women cover their skin has nothing to do with UV rays and skin cancer and everything to do with society and perception. Dark skin is associated with poverty. In Vietnamese culture, the perception is that dark skinned peasants farm the land and work in street markets hawking food and consumer goods where their skin is constantly exposed to the sun. As with all societies, a caste system does exist and dark-skinned peasants are on one of the lower rungs. On the other hand, lighter skin and preferably white skin, is associated with beauty and affluence. This point was driven home many days later when I had a drink with a Vietnamese woman I met in a silk shop.

As we enjoyed our drink over some casual conversation, the subject turned to skin color and beauty. I was interested to get Twuy’s perspective on this topic. At the same time, an overweight Caucasian Australian woman walked into the bar. Twuy motioned in the women’s direction and said, “She is beautiful.” I was shocked as the last term I would use to describe the women who just entered the bar is beauty. She is considerably overweight and average looking. While I can understand why the stereotype exists, it doesn’t make it any less disheartening for me to see an attractive woman like Twuy and realize that she considers herself to be physically inferior to another woman based strictly on the color of her skin.

As we continue our journey, it becomes clear that the real adventure is in the journey, not the destination. I get an in depth view of life in rural Vietnam when we stop to visit a family whose livelihood is making rice paper that is used for making spring rolls and other items. The woman of the house is hard at work making sticky rice gruel, which forms the basis of rice paper. As her kids run around playing with dogs and chickens, she graciously allows us to watch as she labors away over an intense fire using a medieval looking tool to assist with the rice cooking and smoothing process. The end result is displayed outside the hut she works in as lines of bamboo racks are draped with sheets of rice paper that are drying in the sun. This is hard, manual labor and this woman works 10 hours a day, 7 days a week to support her family. She makes approximately $2 a day.

As we continue to drive across the countryside, I notice farmers working in the massive rice paddies that surround us under the protective shield of their conical hats. Every time we make a stop, the farmers look up from their tools and greet us with wide smiles and friendly waves. Much like the woman making rice paper, these men and women labor 10-12 hours a day, spending much of that time behind a manual till that is attached to a water buffalo. The water buffalo is sacred to Vietnamese culture and is still the primary means for harvesting rice in many parts of Vietnam. I feel fortunate that I am able to see these farmers up close at work. It helps me to understand how important farming is as a livelihood and means of survival for so many. The Vietnamese are truly people of the land. It is no surprise that Vietnam is the 2nd largest exporter of rice products in the world.

We hop back aboard the bus and continue on towards the Cao Dai Cathedral. This cathedral, situated on the outskirts of Ho Chi Mihn City in the Tay Ninh District, is the Holy See of the Cao Daism religion. Cao Daism purports the concept of a universal God. Its roots are based in Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism to which elements of Christianity and Mohammedanism have been added. It sounds like a soup but it is actually a religion. By following the 5 canons of Cao Daism, parishioners avoid killing living beings, high living, covetousness, verbal deceit and temptations of the flesh. Adherents of this religion look to hasten the evolution of the soul through reincarnation. Today, this religion thrives in its twin power bases of Tay Ninh and the Mekong.

Religious history aside, the cathedral is aesthetically remarkable. When English writer Graham Greene saw this dazzling cathedral, he described it as a ‘Walt Disney fantasia of the East’. Looking inside the church at the dragons, technicolor snakes, Divine Eye’s, and garments of the priests and church’s zealots, I am a bit awestruck. The Divine Eye is omniscient and penetrating as it stares directly through the chest, into the heart and further into the soul of the person bold enough to look it in the eye. My description may sound exaggerated, but the Divine Eye is ever present as it is the most recurrent motif in the cathedral. It is supposed to symbolize a mental state that allows beings to see what others are doing from far away. In the symbol, an eye is surrounded by a triangle, much like the American one-dollar bill. As I walk throughout the cathedral, I find it almost impossible to avoid its powerful gaze.

A service begins during our visit and we are able to witness, from the balcony above, 20 minutes of a fascinating ceremony. It is captivating to see so many worshippers packed into this cathedral at one time. They are dressed in blue, red and yellow gowns and are sitting on the ground while interesting and exotic music is being created. I am most enchanted by the amazing colors and artwork that are used so brilliantly to represent the various faiths that are interwoven throughout this cathedral, mosque and pagoda hybrid. Given all the religious conflicts, past and present, Cao Daism’s concept of bringing the best of all religions together is refreshing and logical.

After leaving the cathedral, we have a short ride to a small and basic roadside restaurant situated immediately off of the highway. Run by a hard working Cambodian family who doesn’t seem to be too appreciative of my constant peering into their kitchen, we sit down and hungrily wait for our lunch to arrive. I am so curious about everything that I want to see how they are making the food, what kind of ingredients they are using, the cooking utensils used and the kitchen dynamics. Unfortunately, I think the people working in the kitchen think that I am trying to send a signal to them that it is taking too long for the food to come to our table. This is understandable on their part but all I really want is to have the opportunity to get a little bit closer to the action.

An impressive fresh cooked feast of omelets, rice noodle filled pancakes, spring rolls, pork, tofu and rice arrives on our table. There is no reason to eat a lunch so large but everything is so tasty that we keep filling our plates until nearly all the dishes are empty. I conclude the meal by drinking some snake wine with Claire and Sebastian, 2 Aussies in their 70’s who seem to share my outlook that you should eat and drink pretty much anything that looks decent which is placed in front of you. The fermentation of a dead, coiled snake, some hay and a few dead birds with some rice wine surprisingly enough tastes like a cross between tequila and brandy. That was my first impression but I needed to make sure and took another swig before leaving the restaurant. Feeling full and satisfied, I hop back aboard the bus. Our next destination is the Cu Chi tunnels.

The Cu Chi Tunnels are one of the wonders of the world and I do not use that term lightly. These tunnels were used by Viet Cong guerrillas as hiding spots during combat. They were much more than just hiding spots though. They served as communication and supply routes, hospitals, food and weapon caches and living quarters for numerous guerrilla fighters during numerous wars. This included the Vietnam War.

The tunnels were initially developed in response to a number of different circumstances, most importantly the military tactics of the French and U.S. They were first used by the Viet Minh in 1948 to hide from French air and ground sweeps. By 1965, the war was different but there were now 250 kilometers (110 miles) of tunnels that covered Cu Chi and the surrounding areas. These tunnels made it possible for the Viet Cong to link up with their colleague’s and infiltrate Saigon at will. The evolution and use of these tunnels during the Vietnam War was a significant, direct contributing factor to the U.S. pullout from Vietnam and the North Vietnamese Army’s resulting victory. The compact, hard red clay in the area was well suited to digging which was important because there was a tremendous amount of digging that took place over many years. The tunnels could be as small as 80 cm wide and 80 cm high. Even the tiniest Vietnamese soldier would have trouble squeezing into some of these holes. Equipped with vent shafts, hospitals, and kitchens, these tunnels are startling. They are a testament to the will and perseverance of the Vietnamese people. In order to survive against a much larger power, they were willing to live like rodents in deplorable conditions underground. Some people were actually blinded by the light, permanently, when they came out of the tunnels because they were underground for so long. I think I would rather take my chances above ground, even if it meant death, rather than live for months at a time underground for years on end. I am very fortunate and pray that I will never have to find out.

The medical procedures used in these tunnels are good examples of the famous Vietnamese ingenuity in overcoming a lack of basic resources.
Stolen motorcycle engines created light and electricity and scrap metal from downed aircraft were fashioned into surgical tools. Doctors even came up with new ways of performing surgery. Faced with large amounts of casualties and a considerable lack of available blood, one man, Dr. Vo Hoang Le invented a resourceful solution. "We managed to do blood transfusion", Vo said, "by returning his own blood to the patient. If a comrade had a belly wound and was bleeding, but his intestines were not punctured, we collected his blood, filtered it, put it in a bottle and returned it to his veins.”

Even though the size of the tunnels open to tourists have been greatly increased from their original dimensions, getting on my hands and knees and crawling through the tunnels gives me some sense of perspective as to what it was like to live in this environment. As I crawl from one tunnel to the next, I encounter a bat less that a foot away from my face. Later, I sample a typical meal a VC soldier in the tunnels might have had which consisted of tea and tapioca root. Sustenance was minimal for these soldiers and nutritious roots like these were available and therefore very popular. I crawl into another room that opens up into a larger area. There is room for me to stand and there are some items in the corner of the room. I walk over and look at some of the torture instruments that are on display which were used against the South Vietnamese and American soldiers who tried to enter the tunnels. After viewing these instruments, I realize where the term tunnel rat came from. Whenever a tunnel was uncovered, tunnel rats were sent in to kill any buried enemies and plant explosives to destroy the tunnels. The tunnels were very dangerous, with numerous booby traps and enemies lying in wait. A tunnel rat trying to infiltrate one of the Cu Chi tunnels might encounter bamboo spikes or trip a wire that was primed to detonate a grenade or release a box of scorpions onto them. The prospect of being a tunnel rat doesn’t sound too exciting to me.

On the drive back to Saigon, my face is pasted to the bus window as I gaze outward at the life that is unfolding before my eyes. There are women still hard at work carrying pots of food attached to the 2 ends of bamboo poles that stretch across their backs. Others stand in the still scorching sun peddling bottles of water and coca cola. Barefoot children play soccer on the side of the road. I cannot get enough of the pictures of daily life that a typical rode in Vietnam offers. I am tired after such a long day and as I continue to stare, my attention begins to wane and my eyes eventually shut.