I had a deep and much needed sleep last evening. I feel like a new man and owe many thanks to my friend Cary who offered me the sleeping pill. After a quick shower, I gobble down a banana and some tea before making my way to the My My Tailor shop to pick up the clothes I was fit for yesterday. I am giddy with excitement as I have never had any article of clothing specifically tailored for me. Extravagances like these are typically reserved for those much wealthier than I.
The whole situation in the tailor shop is entertaining to say the least. I am in the back room of the shop changing from the clothes I have on into the clothes I am purchasing to make sure they fit. While I am changing, the employees of the shop and the other customers are parading in and out of the room I am in. One person walks in and my pants are off. Another and my pants are on. I have no control over the situation and it appears that I am the only person that seems to be even slightly bothered by the situation. My clothes fit perfectly. I am particularly happy about how the shirt made from the black and white material highlighted with crimson flowers turned out. It is fantastic and I can’t wait to put it on.
I walk to the counter to pay for my two pairs of wool pants and two silk shirts. After exchanging smiles with a woman who takes my $30, I pick up my bags and walk towards the door. Apparently, I act too quickly as I am approached by two women who remind me that I agreed to have lunch with them. I did remember their invitation but didn’t want to bring up the subject because I wanted to make sure their invitation was sincere. It is only 10:30 AM but I am not about to decline their offer as opportunities to eat home cooked food with locals in a foreign country are few and far in between. One of the women I have worked with and who has invited me to have lunch is quite attractive. Her name is Twuy and she leads me back to the fitting room and points to a couch for me to sit on.
First, Twuy serves me a bowl of a popular local dish called Cao Lau. Cao Lau consists of bean sprouts, noodles, chicken, pork rind and broth. It is very tasty. I also have some steamed dumplings and a piece of fruit that looks and tastes a bit like an orange and a bit like a lime. It has a green exterior, orange interior and a slightly tart, slightly sweet flavor. Eating food that comes out of a local kitchen on a couch in the back of a tailor shop undoubtedly violates most precautionary measures that are suggested to those hoping to avoid becoming ill. However, when asked by these gracious and sweet women whether I would have lunch with them, it didn’t even enter into my mind that I was just now feeling better after the stomach issues I have had the last few days. The only thing I wanted to know is where they wanted me to sit and what we were having for lunch. Experiences like these are exactly why I travel in the first place. This is probably my best dining experience in Vietnam to date. Not only have I been able to eat the same dishes that these women eat in their own homes, I have also been able to interact with local people from Hoi An. Sitting down and getting to know a local resident over a meal is a much higher level of cultural immersion than most tourists are fortunate enough to have. It has allowed me to remove my tourist mask and they, their local one. The conversations are no longer about buying clothes or seeing sites, they are about what each of us hold close and dear to our hearts.
After this splendid lunch, I walk back towards the town center and wander around aimlessly in the blistering, hot sun. Along the way, I walk in and out of many art stores and ponder over many different pieces of regional art. I am looking for a piece that, for me, captures the essence of Hoi An. After about ninety minutes of browsing, I think I am ready to make a decision. Now it is time to figure out how to negotiate a price for the piece I have selected. The small gallery I am in is a simple 14 X 18 room with paintings hanging on every wall. There is a woman working and the ladder that connects the main floor to the opening above tells me that there is an attic upstairs. I speak to the woman working and ask her if she is the artist. She tells me that her brother is the artist but he is unavailable because he is napping in his quarters up above. I would like to talk to the artist to find out more about the painting but it does not appear that this is an option. Instead, I negotiate with his sister in broken English while he naps above. She quotes me a fair price and explains that the painting represents different aspects of Vietnamese culture including conical hats, baskets, people and fish. The conical hats, people and baskets represent the hard working Vietnamese people who farm the land, fish and sell goods in baskets in the market under their protective conical hats. The blue fish represent the main form of sustenance for many Vietnamese people. The yellow skinned people in orange hats, green fish on a blue background and variations of different colored hanging baskets make for a complex and beautiful painting.
Walking the old streets of Hoi An with my newly purchased piece of art, I see 2 of my travel companions, Sebastian and Claire. Sebastian waves at me as he boards a small boat, leaving Claire behind. These guys make me laugh every time I see them. Claire walks towards me and tells me that Sebastian is taking a boat ride with a woman he met. He makes sure to let me know that Sebastian needed to exchange some money prior to embarking on this trip. This is his subtle way of letting me know that there could be some kind of sexual nuance to Sebastian’s boat ride. In another not so subtle message from Claire regarding Sebastian’s adventures, he tells me that Seby went to get a massage last evening but later came back to the room to get more money for what Sebastian called “some extras”. Apparently, Sebastian was frustrated that he did not bring more money with him and that he had to return to the room.
Over the time I have spent with Sebastian and Claire, they have shared one entertaining story after another with me. At 75 and 80, they have years of experience and many stories to share. They have recounted stories of them drinking whiskey from Mylanta bottles -- since alcohol was not allowed on the bus -- during a 7 week trip through Central America. Sebastian also has more massage stories from Guatemala and Honduras. He probably has them from many other places also. Meeting people like this is one of the most enthralling things about traveling.
I have walked by the tailor shop I went to earlier in the day many times today and always seem to find Twuy smiling in my direction. As I pass by for what may be the last time, I make a bold decision and decide to drop in and ask Twuy if she’d like to have a drink with me later this evening. I guess I am up for another adventure. I walk in and smile at Twuy, and she smiles back and says “Hello.” Nervous and fumbling over my worlds, I still manage to indicate to her that I would like for her to have a drink with me later this evening. She excitedly responds “Yes” without hesitation and tells me to come by the shop at 8 PM.
Feeling energized, I continue to walk around charming Hoi An as the afternoon winds down. It is uncomfortably humid outside but Hoi An’s tile-roofed houses, narrow streets and pleasant river push me to continue on until I have seen as much of this town as I can. Eventually, I do make my way back to my hotel and take a refreshing dip in the pool. I jump in the water and my sweat covered body immediately cools as I submerge myself in the water. I dip my head under the water and it feels good. I don’t have any thoughts in my head at all as I stand in the pool and let my body relax. This well needed break only lasts for about 20 minutes before I return to my room to take a shower before dinner. We are taking a boat ride up the Thu Bon River to the Hoi An resort for dinner.
The boat ride offered me a much better perspective from which to view the involved process of fishing a river. There are people knee deep in the dirty river water farming for oysters as the sun sets. At the same time, there are other fishermen on boats working with large fishing nets. Gigantic, orange fishing nets are lowered down into the water and are then periodically pulled out of the river by the men and women aboard the boats using a crank that is turned manually. The nets emerge from the water with only a few fish at their bottom. This is only half the battle as the fisherman must then fight the birds that swoop down into the net and attempt to steal the catch away. This process continues hour after hour until the trawlers have made the determination that their catch is significant enough to feed them and their families, while leaving some additional fish that can later be sold to the market. In some cases, frustration mounts as the hours pass and the fishermen realize that they will never come to the determination that their catch is adequate enough to suit their needs. On these days, they head home and decide to test their luck again tomorrow.
Seeing these fishermen up close provides more evidence to me of the incredible resourcefulness of the people. They draw any fish they can out of any body of water that they can find. They farm almost any type of crop on any plot of land that has some promise of fertility. They eat fish most people in Western countries wouldn’t touch and manage to use their magical spices and cooking talent to make them taste wonderful. This is definitely something I can attest to. Seeing these people at work helps to make me realize just how spoiled I am and gives me a better picture of what is real and what is not. The bottom line is that most of these people work to survive and they seem to be quite content doing so.
After returning from dinner, I walk over to the My My Tailor Shop for my date with Thuy. She greets me warmly and we spend the next 15 minutes sitting and talking inside the tailor shop. We do our best to communicate with each other as we sit in the front area of the shop that I walked in yesterday. It is obvious to me, and understandable, that our 15 minute discussion in the tailor shop is a screening process. Twuy and her friends – who peer at us from the living area in the rear of the store where I ate lunch today - probably want to make sure that I am not some psycho off of the street. I certainly don’t blame them and find some sort of innocent romanticism in the whole situation. After Twuy feels more comfortable with me, she walks towards her bike, indicating to me that we can now leave the store. We make our way out of the store to a bar nearby. She rides her bike slowly and I walk next to her. I tell her that we can go wherever she wants to go and she tells me that she wants to go to a place nearby that one of her friends told her was very expensive. After a few minutes, we approach a Western style bar. We walk inside and find a table to sit at. I order a beer and Twuy orders a fruit shake. Like most Vietnamese women I have encountered, Twuy does not drink alcohol. By Vietnamese standards, the drinks are expensive. The beer and fruit shake cost a dollar each. We enjoy our drinks and conversation and laugh often as we discuss American and Vietnamese culture. The physical attraction is obvious as Thuy and I exchange touches to enhance our ability to communicate. This seems to be another common trait of the Vietnamese as I have been touched on the arm and shoulder many times during my trip. This kind of touchiness would make some Westerners feel uncomfortable, but I just see it as another sign of the warmth of the Vietnamese. Twuy tells me that I have a nice smile and I tell her the same. I ask her to take down her beautiful black hair and show me just how long it is. She resists but finally does let her hair down and it extends nearly to her butt. With her hair down, she looks beautiful.
After our drink, we walk outside and take a romantic stroll around town. Twuy asks me many questions about my life in Chicago and in Amsterdam. I asks her about her life in Hoi An and about her family and friends. We exchange a lot in our short meeting. Eventually, we make our way back to the bar to pick up her bike from where we left it. We continue to walk on together up to the point where our common path ends and then say goodbye to each other. We smile at each other and say that we hope we can see each other again. I could have promised to write but I didn’t want to make any promises I can’t keep. I kiss Twuy on the cheek and end a perfect evening and a perfect date.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Monday, June 12, 2006
Facing the Dragon - Chapter 10
Rising early, I have a nice breakfast this morning before making my way to the small village of My Lai to tour an area where one of the most tragic and well publicized Vietnam War atrocities took place. This was the site of the My Lai Massacre.
504 people were murdered here on March 16, 1968, by the infamous Charlie Company. 504 unarmed people from the My Lai village were massacred. The villagers did not have one gun amongst them. The majority of the people murdered were children and elders over 60 who were either too young or too old to fight. Seventeen of the women murdered were pregnant. The photos are horrifying. If I had been so cursed to be a part of Charlie Company on that fateful day, I don’t know if I would have been able to refrain from using my weapon on my own Lieutenant, if not myself. This was the mission of Lieutenant William Calley and the records show that he was personally responsible for 104 casualties. The history books may describe them as casualties, but what they really were was executions. As I stand and look at the mass grave where Calley’s victims lie, I can almost picture him gunning an elderly woman down as she runs out of her burning home.
I have read about My Lai and know some of the details but it is much different to actually walk through the area where tragic history unfolded so long ago. The impact is much greater.
It is hard to believe, but this operation was actually deemed a success and medals were awarded to those who participated in the attack. Needless to say, the facts were perused over in search of that one nugget of information that would somehow justify what was done in the interests of being optimistic and looking for the positives. That proved to be much easier than looking for the real truth and its consequences.
Well, it took time but the truth did come out and it hurt. It hurt badly.
It was suggested that the village of Son My, where the My Lai Massacre took place, was harboring some Viet Cong soldiers from the 48th battalion who participated in the Tet Offensive. However, the information that Charlie Company had was incorrect. Son My was filled with only civilians; civilians that would suffer horribly. I think that Neil Sheehan’s description in the book “A Bright Shining Lie” gives an accurate portrayal of what happened at Son My:
“The American soldiers and junior officers shot old men, women, boys, girls and babies. One soldier missed a baby lying on the ground twice with a .45 pistol as his comrades laughed at his marksmanship. He stood over the child and fired a third time. The soldiers beat women with rifle butts and raped some and sodomized others before shooting them. They shot the water buffalos, the pigs and the chickens. They threw the dead animals into the wells to poison the water. They tossed the satchel charges into the bomb shelters under the houses. A lot of the inhabitants had fled into the shelters. Those who leaped out to escape the explosives were gunned down. All of the houses were put to torch.”
One can only hope that they would be able to maintain some semblance of reason and humanity in a situation like the one described above instead of losing oneself in the moment like some of these soldiers did. One GI, actually the only GI that was injured in the battle, shot himself in the foot deliberately because he couldn’t bring himself to participate in the murderous orgy that was going on around him.
In the end, the 48th battalion never materialized and Son My merely offered a killing field for the frustrated Charlie Company. The soldiers were frustrated in their elusive search for the 48th battalion and were tired of facing injuries and casualties at the hands of snipers, booby traps and enemies they were rarely able to encounter face to face. This frustration led to anger and this anger led to the catastrophe that took place on March 16, 1968.
The military chain of command was able to suppress reports of the massacre and some publications, including the army newspaper Stars and Stripes and The New York Times, branded the mission a success. The awful truth didn’t come to light until November, 1969, through the efforts of a former GI, an investigative journalist and an army photographer. The grand total of the punishment for the 25 men charged with murder in this massacre amounted to 3 days of hard labor, only for Calley. Why 3 days? Because after 3 days, Richard Nixon intervened and commuted his sentence to 3 years of house arrest after which Calley was paroled. It sickens me deeply to think that Calley served a measly 3 years of house arrest when he was responsible for killing so many innocent people, many of them being children and babies and all of them having literally no means to defend themselves.
It is far too easy to dismiss Charlie Company as a freak occurrence. However, in reality, a situation like this was inevitable. The US war effort in Vietnam was based on unselective napalm and rocket attacks that were anything but accurate and did little to avoid civilians. Body counts were used as a barometer of US war success and this created a climate in which Vietnamese life was cheapened to such an extent that Vietnamese lives were valued not much more than that of a domestic house cat. In the end, if indiscriminate killing from the air was deemed acceptable, then random killing at close quarters was only taking this methodology one step further. Seeing this up close with my own eyes makes it even more disheartening to me when I hear the ridiculous false beliefs that many Americans hold to be true regarding the Vietnam War. With very few accurate historical contexts available and easily accessible, most of what people think happened is based on movies, albeit good ones, that really depict the Vietnamese as animals. Most of these films are told from a suffering American’s perspective when the suffering, by and large, was so much greater on the Vietnamese side. The reality is -- America eventually realized that they couldn’t win the war and they pulled out. Yes, they lost and that is a hard thing for many of my fellow comrades to accept. ‘Forgive, but don’t forget’ is a phrase that is listed in front of every holocaust memorial. It seems to me that this is how most Vietnamese people remember their war with America.
After leaving My Lai, we board the bus to make our short journey to Hoi An. As I sit on the bus silently and absorb the things I have just seen, I feel uncomfortable. My mind and body both feel unsettled. My mind is consumed with the horror of the My Lai massacre but my stomach is having a whole set of different issues. I have felt like shit since I woke up this morning. When I have encountered stomach problems in the past, the problems are usually related to too much system outflow. That hasn’t been the case in this instance though. I am constipated. In fact, I am constipated to the point where I no longer have the desire to eat. I have to combat things some way so I am now being stubborn about putting much of anything other than water into my body until something starts leaving it.
We are finally in Hoi An. The town seems a bit touristy but looks like a great spot for a well needed, relaxing break. After all, this town is considered to be one of Vietnam’s charms. It also appears to be shopping galore here with many shops offering tailoring services, lacquer ware and art.
Feeling the need to stretch my legs, my first agenda item is to walk down Tran Phu, one of the main streets in town and take in the atmosphere of this busy street. Employees of many of the shops that populate each side of this main thoroughfare walk out onto the street and ask me to come in and look at their merchandise. I can’t resist for long and soon find myself walking into one of many tailor shops, indiscriminate from each other, in this area. Perusing the shop looking at the different fabrics and materials that are available, I am assisted by a cute Vietnamese woman. She helps me select some designs and fabrics. One is a silk fabric I have picked with a summer shirt in mind, although the fabric appears to be more suited to a woman’s dress. Regardless, the black and white design with tiny crimson budding flowers is appealing to me. Fabrics in hand, the shop attendant and I sit down and look at a magazine that shows the different pant and shirt styles available. I am fitted for 2 short sleeve shirts and 2 pairs of pants. The women assisting me tend to my every need and tell me that they want me to join them for lunch tomorrow when I come back to pick up my clothes. These women are adorable and they endure themselves to me even more when they tell me that I am beautiful. I find it amusing that they use this term so freely.
As the day winds down, I walk back towards my hotel. Noticing an internet café and tour booking center nearby, I decide to check my email. I buy a bottle of water, sit down and log into a computer. As I check my email and do a bit of net surfing, the woman working in the shop begins to ask me some questions. She wants to know if I am interested in any tours and wants to know where I am from. We have a nice conversation and her 5 to 6 year old son takes much interest in me. He excitedly runs up to me and jumps on the chair next to me. This must be his usual spot as he seems comfortable. He begins playing a computer game. Eventually, he ends up on my lap as I try to teach him a few English words and phrases. We count to 30 together and he exhibits a strong command of some basic English words and phrases. It is obvious that he is being schooled in English. This woman and her son are kind, warm people.
I return to my room, still feeling less than ideal. Walking around in the hot sun and sweating like a pig hasn’t made me feel much better. It is a shame that I am not feeling well because tonight offers a fantastic opportunity to both cook and eat. We are having dinner at a restaurant where the patrons cook fresh food with the chef and then serve it to their entire dinner party.
The night is a fun one anyway. The cooking takes place in full view of the table in an open air environment. Despite the fact that my eating is restricted to one bite tastes, I walk away with some excellent Vietnamese recipes. I really enjoy making fresh spring rolls, cuttlefish salad, fish wrapped in banana leaves and baked bananas. I participate and make the most of the evening despite the way I am feeling.
Before bed, one of my travel companions hands me a supposedly “strong” sleeping pill. I am hopeful that this will help me get a good night of rest.
504 people were murdered here on March 16, 1968, by the infamous Charlie Company. 504 unarmed people from the My Lai village were massacred. The villagers did not have one gun amongst them. The majority of the people murdered were children and elders over 60 who were either too young or too old to fight. Seventeen of the women murdered were pregnant. The photos are horrifying. If I had been so cursed to be a part of Charlie Company on that fateful day, I don’t know if I would have been able to refrain from using my weapon on my own Lieutenant, if not myself. This was the mission of Lieutenant William Calley and the records show that he was personally responsible for 104 casualties. The history books may describe them as casualties, but what they really were was executions. As I stand and look at the mass grave where Calley’s victims lie, I can almost picture him gunning an elderly woman down as she runs out of her burning home.
I have read about My Lai and know some of the details but it is much different to actually walk through the area where tragic history unfolded so long ago. The impact is much greater.
It is hard to believe, but this operation was actually deemed a success and medals were awarded to those who participated in the attack. Needless to say, the facts were perused over in search of that one nugget of information that would somehow justify what was done in the interests of being optimistic and looking for the positives. That proved to be much easier than looking for the real truth and its consequences.
Well, it took time but the truth did come out and it hurt. It hurt badly.
It was suggested that the village of Son My, where the My Lai Massacre took place, was harboring some Viet Cong soldiers from the 48th battalion who participated in the Tet Offensive. However, the information that Charlie Company had was incorrect. Son My was filled with only civilians; civilians that would suffer horribly. I think that Neil Sheehan’s description in the book “A Bright Shining Lie” gives an accurate portrayal of what happened at Son My:
“The American soldiers and junior officers shot old men, women, boys, girls and babies. One soldier missed a baby lying on the ground twice with a .45 pistol as his comrades laughed at his marksmanship. He stood over the child and fired a third time. The soldiers beat women with rifle butts and raped some and sodomized others before shooting them. They shot the water buffalos, the pigs and the chickens. They threw the dead animals into the wells to poison the water. They tossed the satchel charges into the bomb shelters under the houses. A lot of the inhabitants had fled into the shelters. Those who leaped out to escape the explosives were gunned down. All of the houses were put to torch.”
One can only hope that they would be able to maintain some semblance of reason and humanity in a situation like the one described above instead of losing oneself in the moment like some of these soldiers did. One GI, actually the only GI that was injured in the battle, shot himself in the foot deliberately because he couldn’t bring himself to participate in the murderous orgy that was going on around him.
In the end, the 48th battalion never materialized and Son My merely offered a killing field for the frustrated Charlie Company. The soldiers were frustrated in their elusive search for the 48th battalion and were tired of facing injuries and casualties at the hands of snipers, booby traps and enemies they were rarely able to encounter face to face. This frustration led to anger and this anger led to the catastrophe that took place on March 16, 1968.
The military chain of command was able to suppress reports of the massacre and some publications, including the army newspaper Stars and Stripes and The New York Times, branded the mission a success. The awful truth didn’t come to light until November, 1969, through the efforts of a former GI, an investigative journalist and an army photographer. The grand total of the punishment for the 25 men charged with murder in this massacre amounted to 3 days of hard labor, only for Calley. Why 3 days? Because after 3 days, Richard Nixon intervened and commuted his sentence to 3 years of house arrest after which Calley was paroled. It sickens me deeply to think that Calley served a measly 3 years of house arrest when he was responsible for killing so many innocent people, many of them being children and babies and all of them having literally no means to defend themselves.
It is far too easy to dismiss Charlie Company as a freak occurrence. However, in reality, a situation like this was inevitable. The US war effort in Vietnam was based on unselective napalm and rocket attacks that were anything but accurate and did little to avoid civilians. Body counts were used as a barometer of US war success and this created a climate in which Vietnamese life was cheapened to such an extent that Vietnamese lives were valued not much more than that of a domestic house cat. In the end, if indiscriminate killing from the air was deemed acceptable, then random killing at close quarters was only taking this methodology one step further. Seeing this up close with my own eyes makes it even more disheartening to me when I hear the ridiculous false beliefs that many Americans hold to be true regarding the Vietnam War. With very few accurate historical contexts available and easily accessible, most of what people think happened is based on movies, albeit good ones, that really depict the Vietnamese as animals. Most of these films are told from a suffering American’s perspective when the suffering, by and large, was so much greater on the Vietnamese side. The reality is -- America eventually realized that they couldn’t win the war and they pulled out. Yes, they lost and that is a hard thing for many of my fellow comrades to accept. ‘Forgive, but don’t forget’ is a phrase that is listed in front of every holocaust memorial. It seems to me that this is how most Vietnamese people remember their war with America.
After leaving My Lai, we board the bus to make our short journey to Hoi An. As I sit on the bus silently and absorb the things I have just seen, I feel uncomfortable. My mind and body both feel unsettled. My mind is consumed with the horror of the My Lai massacre but my stomach is having a whole set of different issues. I have felt like shit since I woke up this morning. When I have encountered stomach problems in the past, the problems are usually related to too much system outflow. That hasn’t been the case in this instance though. I am constipated. In fact, I am constipated to the point where I no longer have the desire to eat. I have to combat things some way so I am now being stubborn about putting much of anything other than water into my body until something starts leaving it.
We are finally in Hoi An. The town seems a bit touristy but looks like a great spot for a well needed, relaxing break. After all, this town is considered to be one of Vietnam’s charms. It also appears to be shopping galore here with many shops offering tailoring services, lacquer ware and art.
Feeling the need to stretch my legs, my first agenda item is to walk down Tran Phu, one of the main streets in town and take in the atmosphere of this busy street. Employees of many of the shops that populate each side of this main thoroughfare walk out onto the street and ask me to come in and look at their merchandise. I can’t resist for long and soon find myself walking into one of many tailor shops, indiscriminate from each other, in this area. Perusing the shop looking at the different fabrics and materials that are available, I am assisted by a cute Vietnamese woman. She helps me select some designs and fabrics. One is a silk fabric I have picked with a summer shirt in mind, although the fabric appears to be more suited to a woman’s dress. Regardless, the black and white design with tiny crimson budding flowers is appealing to me. Fabrics in hand, the shop attendant and I sit down and look at a magazine that shows the different pant and shirt styles available. I am fitted for 2 short sleeve shirts and 2 pairs of pants. The women assisting me tend to my every need and tell me that they want me to join them for lunch tomorrow when I come back to pick up my clothes. These women are adorable and they endure themselves to me even more when they tell me that I am beautiful. I find it amusing that they use this term so freely.
As the day winds down, I walk back towards my hotel. Noticing an internet café and tour booking center nearby, I decide to check my email. I buy a bottle of water, sit down and log into a computer. As I check my email and do a bit of net surfing, the woman working in the shop begins to ask me some questions. She wants to know if I am interested in any tours and wants to know where I am from. We have a nice conversation and her 5 to 6 year old son takes much interest in me. He excitedly runs up to me and jumps on the chair next to me. This must be his usual spot as he seems comfortable. He begins playing a computer game. Eventually, he ends up on my lap as I try to teach him a few English words and phrases. We count to 30 together and he exhibits a strong command of some basic English words and phrases. It is obvious that he is being schooled in English. This woman and her son are kind, warm people.
I return to my room, still feeling less than ideal. Walking around in the hot sun and sweating like a pig hasn’t made me feel much better. It is a shame that I am not feeling well because tonight offers a fantastic opportunity to both cook and eat. We are having dinner at a restaurant where the patrons cook fresh food with the chef and then serve it to their entire dinner party.
The night is a fun one anyway. The cooking takes place in full view of the table in an open air environment. Despite the fact that my eating is restricted to one bite tastes, I walk away with some excellent Vietnamese recipes. I really enjoy making fresh spring rolls, cuttlefish salad, fish wrapped in banana leaves and baked bananas. I participate and make the most of the evening despite the way I am feeling.
Before bed, one of my travel companions hands me a supposedly “strong” sleeping pill. I am hopeful that this will help me get a good night of rest.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Facing the Dragon - Chapter 9
With a long day on the road ahead of me, I had a tough time shutting my eyes and didn’t sleep particularly well last evening. I can’t understand why I would have any anxiety, but sometimes your body makes decisions that your mind cannot comprehend. Maybe its excitement about the surprises I expect to encounter as we drive through the long stretches of countryside connecting one city to another. I never know what I will see, but always come away with insight into a whole new world that didn’t exist to me a couple weeks ago. Today, we are traveling from Nha Trang to Quang Ngai. Quang Ngai will be a stopping point for us before we continue on to Hoi An.
The majority of the day is spent aboard the bus peering out at vast amounts of farmland, livestock and rice patties as we drive through one rural area after another. I see many farmers working the rice patties under the hot sun. Their conical hat is their only protection as they toil away with the most basic of farming tools for 10 to 12 hours a day. With such physically demanding jobs and a diet that is heavy on rice and low on nutrients, it is easy to understand why many rural Vietnamese people are thin and frail looking. On one occasion, I see a farmer and his wife plowing their plot of land with only a water buffalo and one simple plow. The water buffalo pulls the plow and the man maneuvers it from behind while his wife plants rice.
As time passes and we drive along, I eventually doze off. I am awakened suddenly when I feel the bus come to a dead stop. Usually, it starts moving again in a moment or two but nothing is happening. I open my eyes, stand and walk to the front of the bus. I see a herd of ducks in front of me. They are veering out across a large section of the road, almost like the blade of a fan. They are slowly crossing the street behind a girl in a conical hat who can’t be more than 10 years old. She is doing her best to keep the herd in some semblance of order. This is a somewhat typical traffic delay in rural Vietnam. It is much more than that to me though. As I stand and watch life unfold in front of my eyes, I realize that this is one of those rare, special moments that you need to fully immerse yourself in to really appreciate. I take a deep breath and feel my body numb, immersing myself in the moment.
At midday, we stop at Qui Nhon, a mid-sized seaport, for lunch. Overlooking a beautiful beach, I have what has become a typical lunch for me – an avocado, tomato and onion sandwich on a French roll. The avocado is as ripe as can be. The more I eat avocado, the more I seem to like it. It is becoming addictive.
As we continue our drive up the South Central coast, the mountains surrounding us highlight the beauty of the environment. It is amazing to see how lush the land is in this area given the stress it went through during the wars of the past.
Over the course of our long day of driving, some conversation ensued regarding Vietnam’s relations with China. Historically, Vietnam has had poor relations with China. In fact, despite their close proximity, the history they share and the fact that they are both communist countries in the same region, Vietnam is more closely aligned with Russia than China. The relationship between Vietnam and China has slowly improved, but the Vietnamese still greatly fear the Chinese due to their size, power and close proximity -- they are bordering countries. This is most likely a positive step as the downfall of communism in Russia has left Vietnam without a powerful ally that could assist them if a conflict with China were to arise.
It would be an understatement to describe the roads we are driving on as ‘in need of upkeep’. They are incredibly bumpy and Qui is doing one hell of a job making sure we stay upright. After a couple hours of driving, I decide to move up to the “cockpit” and sit in the front with Qui so that I can get a bird’s eye view of everything that he encounters on the road.
Wow! Some of the potholes we encounter are frighteningly large. Failing to avoid these crater size potholes would undoubtedly result in a blowout, at the very least. There are horribly overcrowded buses that erroneously navigate between 2 lanes of traffic, providing more hazards for Qui to avoid. Throw into the mix scooters, bikes and an occasional cyclo and I feel like we are playing a real live game of Frogger. The roads aren’t very wide either so there is very little room for error. I find it amusing that some of the people on the bus act surprised when we hit a large bump in the road that gives them a jolt. It makes me wonder if they have been seeing the same things I have for the last week. As we drive along amid the chaos surrounding us, I look out the window to my left and see a half naked man urinating off of a mound of clay that divides 2 lanes of traffic. I am shocked and surprised. Seeing a man standing between two lanes of traffic is surprising enough, but the fact that he is urinating onto the road is astounding.
We arrive at the hotel at 7 PM, and quickly head downstairs to the hotel restaurant for dinner. As much as I despise eating at hotels, we are all tired and no one feels like venturing off of the premises. As I expect, my meal is average. I have a cuttlefish and vegetable dish that is nothing special. It isn’t the first time I have had cuttlefish and I have definitely had better.
Rumor has is that this hotel is well known for having an excellent massage parlor. I have been ruminating about this subject for many days now and my discussions with Sebastian, while entertaining, have also made the topic of massage one that is never far from my thoughts. I do want to get a rub down and feel foolish for making such a big deal about it, but I also know about the ‘extras’ that are frequently offered in these massage parlors. I am conflicted because I don’t know what I really want. Maybe I want to be with an attractive Vietnamese woman who fawns over me and perhaps I want to be with her regardless of whether I am paying her for her services or not. On the other hand, I have never paid a woman to spend intimate time with me and have never had any reason to think that I would want or need to. What I do know is that I am attracted to Vietnamese women and this attraction seems to grow every day when I meet random women who seem to be drawn to me. After all, if a woman shows attraction towards you, your attraction towards her usually rises incrementally. Being alone and single, I am forced to ask myself if I have the desire and will power to fight off a persistent, sweet and attractive woman that massages my body and then insists on taking the massage a bit further for 5 or 10 extra dollars. For now, I am making the decision to delay having a massage until I am in a better state of mind. Hopefully, that state of mind will come.
With a couple of hours to spare and nothing to do, I sit down on a chair in the lobby and attempt to read. I read a few pages in my book but can’t concentrate. I am antsy and feel the need to walk around. I walk around the hotel and eventually find myself outside the entrance to the massage parlor. I look inside and walk on, wondering if any of my fellow travelers are inside. I walk back and forth and linger around the massage parlor entrance like a child, just looking for a reason to enter the shop. Finally, my pacing outside the parlor entrance gets the best of me. I think to myself, “What the fuck am I doing?” At this point, I open the door and walk inside. I approach the counter and look at the menu of services offered. After a minute or two, one of the women directs me towards a barber chair and tells me to sit down. I haven’t asked for anything at this point and am wondering what will happen next. Another woman approaches me with a pair of scissors in her hands and begins trimming my hair. I don’t want or need a haircut, but at this point it would be more difficult for me to try and explain to her that I don’t want a haircut than it is for me to just let her cut my hair. Eventually, three women are attending to me at the same time. I feel special, very special. The way these women look at me and treat me with such care makes me feel like a movie star. It is highly doubtful that I will ever know what it felt like to be Al Pacino in the 70s or Tom Cruise in the 90s, but I am at least getting a glimpse into that lifestyle tonight. I am flattered as these three women smile at me, touch me with adoration, and try to find out as much about my life as they can. They giggle as they all move around me in a circle at times, each attending to different things. I laugh, I smile and I feel completely relaxed. I am in the moment completely, fully realizing that I may never be privy to treatment like this again. One of the women tells me that I am a beautiful boy.
Quiang is the girl who tells me that I am beautiful. She is also the girl who entices me into accepting a scalp massage. Quiang is one of the most attractive girls I have met in Vietnam. She has a nice figure, a beautiful complexion and long, straight black hair. Not much enticing was needed. She is so affectionate and genuine with her touch towards me. Her sincere attempts to find out about my life with the use of her limited English make my heart melt. I don’t know what the circumstances are in this parlor regarding propositions for other services and am a bit nervous about being put in this type of situation. As a result, I answer ‘Yes’ to the staple question I seem to encounter every day, “Do you have a girlfriend?” I lie.
After I answer Quiang’s question with a lie, my mind is flooded with a litany of questions. I am not entirely sure why I decided to lie to her. ‘Did she ask me that question for business purposes to build relations or does she like me?’ ‘Does she want something to happen between us?’ ‘Does she want me to pay her?’ I guess I am not ready to take life as it comes and deal with the consequences that are part of the decisions one chooses or does not choose to make. Instead, I avoid the situation. Actually, that is a lie too because if I really wanted to avoid the situation, I would be lying in my bed in my room.
As Quiang continues to caress my face and scalp, I crumble and tell her that I think she is beautiful. Quiang gets very shy very quickly. I don’t why I made this comment or where I expect it will take me. We even get out a notepad at one point, thinking that writing may heighten our level of communication. There are many thoughts going through my head. My mind drifts away into fantasy land and I imagine me abandoning my travel group and spending the coming days with Quiang.
I don’t know if Quiang sleeps with men for money and to be honest, I don’t care if she does. I can make no presumption as to how I would live my life if I was in her shoes and will not even attempt to act like I understand. As hard as it is, I do manage to eventually pull myself off of the table where Quiang massaged my scalp so gently and do make my way back to my room. I am alone. I would like to say that I did this because I am a good and honorable man who did the right thing, but by claiming that I would only be trying to make myself feel good.
All I do know is that I left a small piece of my heart with Quiang in this beauty parlor on this evening.
The majority of the day is spent aboard the bus peering out at vast amounts of farmland, livestock and rice patties as we drive through one rural area after another. I see many farmers working the rice patties under the hot sun. Their conical hat is their only protection as they toil away with the most basic of farming tools for 10 to 12 hours a day. With such physically demanding jobs and a diet that is heavy on rice and low on nutrients, it is easy to understand why many rural Vietnamese people are thin and frail looking. On one occasion, I see a farmer and his wife plowing their plot of land with only a water buffalo and one simple plow. The water buffalo pulls the plow and the man maneuvers it from behind while his wife plants rice.
As time passes and we drive along, I eventually doze off. I am awakened suddenly when I feel the bus come to a dead stop. Usually, it starts moving again in a moment or two but nothing is happening. I open my eyes, stand and walk to the front of the bus. I see a herd of ducks in front of me. They are veering out across a large section of the road, almost like the blade of a fan. They are slowly crossing the street behind a girl in a conical hat who can’t be more than 10 years old. She is doing her best to keep the herd in some semblance of order. This is a somewhat typical traffic delay in rural Vietnam. It is much more than that to me though. As I stand and watch life unfold in front of my eyes, I realize that this is one of those rare, special moments that you need to fully immerse yourself in to really appreciate. I take a deep breath and feel my body numb, immersing myself in the moment.
At midday, we stop at Qui Nhon, a mid-sized seaport, for lunch. Overlooking a beautiful beach, I have what has become a typical lunch for me – an avocado, tomato and onion sandwich on a French roll. The avocado is as ripe as can be. The more I eat avocado, the more I seem to like it. It is becoming addictive.
As we continue our drive up the South Central coast, the mountains surrounding us highlight the beauty of the environment. It is amazing to see how lush the land is in this area given the stress it went through during the wars of the past.
Over the course of our long day of driving, some conversation ensued regarding Vietnam’s relations with China. Historically, Vietnam has had poor relations with China. In fact, despite their close proximity, the history they share and the fact that they are both communist countries in the same region, Vietnam is more closely aligned with Russia than China. The relationship between Vietnam and China has slowly improved, but the Vietnamese still greatly fear the Chinese due to their size, power and close proximity -- they are bordering countries. This is most likely a positive step as the downfall of communism in Russia has left Vietnam without a powerful ally that could assist them if a conflict with China were to arise.
It would be an understatement to describe the roads we are driving on as ‘in need of upkeep’. They are incredibly bumpy and Qui is doing one hell of a job making sure we stay upright. After a couple hours of driving, I decide to move up to the “cockpit” and sit in the front with Qui so that I can get a bird’s eye view of everything that he encounters on the road.
Wow! Some of the potholes we encounter are frighteningly large. Failing to avoid these crater size potholes would undoubtedly result in a blowout, at the very least. There are horribly overcrowded buses that erroneously navigate between 2 lanes of traffic, providing more hazards for Qui to avoid. Throw into the mix scooters, bikes and an occasional cyclo and I feel like we are playing a real live game of Frogger. The roads aren’t very wide either so there is very little room for error. I find it amusing that some of the people on the bus act surprised when we hit a large bump in the road that gives them a jolt. It makes me wonder if they have been seeing the same things I have for the last week. As we drive along amid the chaos surrounding us, I look out the window to my left and see a half naked man urinating off of a mound of clay that divides 2 lanes of traffic. I am shocked and surprised. Seeing a man standing between two lanes of traffic is surprising enough, but the fact that he is urinating onto the road is astounding.
We arrive at the hotel at 7 PM, and quickly head downstairs to the hotel restaurant for dinner. As much as I despise eating at hotels, we are all tired and no one feels like venturing off of the premises. As I expect, my meal is average. I have a cuttlefish and vegetable dish that is nothing special. It isn’t the first time I have had cuttlefish and I have definitely had better.
Rumor has is that this hotel is well known for having an excellent massage parlor. I have been ruminating about this subject for many days now and my discussions with Sebastian, while entertaining, have also made the topic of massage one that is never far from my thoughts. I do want to get a rub down and feel foolish for making such a big deal about it, but I also know about the ‘extras’ that are frequently offered in these massage parlors. I am conflicted because I don’t know what I really want. Maybe I want to be with an attractive Vietnamese woman who fawns over me and perhaps I want to be with her regardless of whether I am paying her for her services or not. On the other hand, I have never paid a woman to spend intimate time with me and have never had any reason to think that I would want or need to. What I do know is that I am attracted to Vietnamese women and this attraction seems to grow every day when I meet random women who seem to be drawn to me. After all, if a woman shows attraction towards you, your attraction towards her usually rises incrementally. Being alone and single, I am forced to ask myself if I have the desire and will power to fight off a persistent, sweet and attractive woman that massages my body and then insists on taking the massage a bit further for 5 or 10 extra dollars. For now, I am making the decision to delay having a massage until I am in a better state of mind. Hopefully, that state of mind will come.
With a couple of hours to spare and nothing to do, I sit down on a chair in the lobby and attempt to read. I read a few pages in my book but can’t concentrate. I am antsy and feel the need to walk around. I walk around the hotel and eventually find myself outside the entrance to the massage parlor. I look inside and walk on, wondering if any of my fellow travelers are inside. I walk back and forth and linger around the massage parlor entrance like a child, just looking for a reason to enter the shop. Finally, my pacing outside the parlor entrance gets the best of me. I think to myself, “What the fuck am I doing?” At this point, I open the door and walk inside. I approach the counter and look at the menu of services offered. After a minute or two, one of the women directs me towards a barber chair and tells me to sit down. I haven’t asked for anything at this point and am wondering what will happen next. Another woman approaches me with a pair of scissors in her hands and begins trimming my hair. I don’t want or need a haircut, but at this point it would be more difficult for me to try and explain to her that I don’t want a haircut than it is for me to just let her cut my hair. Eventually, three women are attending to me at the same time. I feel special, very special. The way these women look at me and treat me with such care makes me feel like a movie star. It is highly doubtful that I will ever know what it felt like to be Al Pacino in the 70s or Tom Cruise in the 90s, but I am at least getting a glimpse into that lifestyle tonight. I am flattered as these three women smile at me, touch me with adoration, and try to find out as much about my life as they can. They giggle as they all move around me in a circle at times, each attending to different things. I laugh, I smile and I feel completely relaxed. I am in the moment completely, fully realizing that I may never be privy to treatment like this again. One of the women tells me that I am a beautiful boy.
Quiang is the girl who tells me that I am beautiful. She is also the girl who entices me into accepting a scalp massage. Quiang is one of the most attractive girls I have met in Vietnam. She has a nice figure, a beautiful complexion and long, straight black hair. Not much enticing was needed. She is so affectionate and genuine with her touch towards me. Her sincere attempts to find out about my life with the use of her limited English make my heart melt. I don’t know what the circumstances are in this parlor regarding propositions for other services and am a bit nervous about being put in this type of situation. As a result, I answer ‘Yes’ to the staple question I seem to encounter every day, “Do you have a girlfriend?” I lie.
After I answer Quiang’s question with a lie, my mind is flooded with a litany of questions. I am not entirely sure why I decided to lie to her. ‘Did she ask me that question for business purposes to build relations or does she like me?’ ‘Does she want something to happen between us?’ ‘Does she want me to pay her?’ I guess I am not ready to take life as it comes and deal with the consequences that are part of the decisions one chooses or does not choose to make. Instead, I avoid the situation. Actually, that is a lie too because if I really wanted to avoid the situation, I would be lying in my bed in my room.
As Quiang continues to caress my face and scalp, I crumble and tell her that I think she is beautiful. Quiang gets very shy very quickly. I don’t why I made this comment or where I expect it will take me. We even get out a notepad at one point, thinking that writing may heighten our level of communication. There are many thoughts going through my head. My mind drifts away into fantasy land and I imagine me abandoning my travel group and spending the coming days with Quiang.
I don’t know if Quiang sleeps with men for money and to be honest, I don’t care if she does. I can make no presumption as to how I would live my life if I was in her shoes and will not even attempt to act like I understand. As hard as it is, I do manage to eventually pull myself off of the table where Quiang massaged my scalp so gently and do make my way back to my room. I am alone. I would like to say that I did this because I am a good and honorable man who did the right thing, but by claiming that I would only be trying to make myself feel good.
All I do know is that I left a small piece of my heart with Quiang in this beauty parlor on this evening.
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