'Nam

Oh, what to say about Vietnam? It was a safe place to be. Our biggest problem was the language barrier, which I heard only gets worse with China, and means I’ll be spending my night writing down Chinese terms and looking for maps of every major city we’ll be in before we port in Hong Kong tomorrow.

I travelled with Ben, Kristin, and Rolando. Ben’s dad, a veteran of the war, was stationed at one point in Hue (pronounced: “Hway”, so you can hear the “H”), and that was our deciding factor of where to go. Our plan the first night was to take an overnight train north (about halfway up the country). Five minutes after they told us everything was booked AND it was a 20 hour ride, much different than what we had originally heard, we had booked a one-way flight for the next morning at 6 am. With more time to kill, we spent the day in the market, where I bought a fantastic North Face backpack for $8 (I hear the son of the CEO of North Face is on the ship, and his father is not too happy with all of the purchases made in Vietnam) and the boys spent the better half of two hours bartering prices to get suits made.

 We walked past a restaurant later that afternoon and immediately turned in, attracted, like children, by the swings hanging from the ceiling. Here we were introduced to Pho (pronounced like the first half of the f-bomb, “Fuh”), a chicken noodle type soup, and delicious Vietnamese ice cream.

We spent the night wandering the brightly lit streets of Ho Chi Minh City, also known as Saigon, riding elevators up to the rooftops of shiny buildings, trying weird foods, and talking to American-loving Vietnamese people who wanted to practice their English with us. As we wandered, we walked past groups of kids our age hanging out in parks, some holding skateboards, some just staring as we walked by, some shouting “Hello!”, which seemed to be the most widely known English word among people on the streets. They were just so excited to be able to say anything, and it was really cool.

At one point while we walked, after trying cuttlefish (street food, not the best thing I’ve ever tasted) we were kind of caught by some bouncers and ushered through a dark, down-sloping hallway, past stands that I’m sure, during the day, belonged to owners trying to sell fake sunglasses, purses, watches, etc… The bouncer pushed an invisible button on the dirty wall 100 yards underneath this building, and a black-light elevator opened in front of us. We looked at each other before a mutual “eh, why not?” shoulder shrug, and rose three floors. When the doors opened, my hands automatically went to cover my ears. Mixed Justin Beiber songs (why is every country so obsessed with Justin Beiber?) blared from the speakers around the corner. We were ushered across a big dance floor and down an aisle to a tall table with no chairs. Looking around, it seemed a few other SASers had made it inside, and between us and a couple younger groups of Vietnamese people, there was only head-bobbing. No dancing, no talking. It was MUCH too loud to talk. I felt like I was in a swanky, wild club you see in the movies where girls’ drinks are drugged and fights over cocaine break out randomly. After five minutes of awkward head-bobbing and looking around, we decided street food sounded more appealing, and after a long search for the exit, we managed to get back outside to the now quiet-seeming streets of Saigon.

After more walking around, and a run-in I’ll write about soon for travel writing, we came across some kids fishing on the steep slope of the Saigon River. Didn’t they have homes, or mothers, or somewhere to be? It was so late! They laughed and shouted “Hello!” as we approached, and before we knew it Rolando was sliding down the face of the slope towards the water, fishing net in one hand, arm being tugged to safety by three Vietnamese kids, the rest of us laughing and cracking jokes in our own languages that the others didn’t understand.

I woke up at 3:22 am, after a mini fight at 1:45 am with the girls I share a wall with, who had come in drunk and boisterous. I got ready and met my traveling companions in the gangway, where we ventured out to cut a deal with a taxi driver, $20 to the airport. We were tired, and $5 apiece wasn’t that big of a deal. His car conveniently “stalled” outside of the entrance to the airport, where you had to pay a fee to get in. Three of us paid with five singles, and Ben paid with a $5 bill. As he walked around the car and I pulled my backpack out, the driver said “Excuse me! Not $20!” I recounted and noticed, to my disgust and his embarrassment, that he had taken out Ben’s $5 bill, thinking we would pay more. I yelled at him, telling him we weren’t stupid and I knew he was stealing from us. If my brain had been on (it was 4 am by this time) I would have taken $5 more out of the pile and said “You take $5 out, I take $5 out” and walked away. It bothers me that people in every country have raised prices in taxis and autorickshaws and broken deals because they think we’re stupid Americans. It’s disrespectful, and the next person that does it will get a lot less patience from me than they deserve. I will try to be as nice as possible though. I promise!

The day was extra long since we were off and running in Hue by 7:30 am. We had a little run-in with what we decided were undercover National Geographic photographers, but they wouldn’t admit it. Their National Geographic bags and clothes kind of gave them away. Those liars. Took a taxi into town, where we ate, and then made our way to the Forbidden City, or Purple City, via bikes with little carriages on the front. Stories say it’s what the Forbidden City in China was modeled for. The men who drove us in their carriages spoke little English, but would point to a grassy field and say “bomb”, or stop at pagodas and temples as we made our way to the main attraction.  Some parts were run-down, while some buildings seemed to have been rebuilt. Across the street you could see an old fort topped with a massive Vietnam flag, blowing in the wind. The walls of the buildings were made of tiles, like broken teacups pieced together in an artistic way. The area inside the city seemed more humid, if possible, than the land outside. Sculptures and statues of dragons and ancient un-readable writings covered walls and doorways. I’m not sure how to describe the Forbidden City. I guess it was kind of what I expected. What pictures showed me. Cool, but another touristy thing to seem.

That night, we took a train to Da Nang, East of Hue, on the coast. The next morning, we made our way to Marble Mountain, where statues and temples could be seen perched on the mountain’s cliffs from down below. As we walked the road outside, a woman came up to us. “Where are you from?” she asked. “America”, we all answered in unison, something we had said many times before. “To-tally Aw-some!” She exclaimed. We laughed as she waved goodbye, turning the other direction. A few seconds later another woman approached us, same question, same answer, same response. Who had come through and taught all of these people to say “To-tally Aw-some!” It was cute. It was funny. This woman followed us around, telling us about the mountain, showing us where to eat, asking us to stop by her shop on our way back.

Marble mountain had enough Buddha statues for all of Vietnam. They were huge. They were built into the mountains, carved into the caves, where rays of light shown down on them from holes in the rock face above. It was eerily quiet, except for the squeaking of bats and unpredictable flapping of wings. Raggedy men ushered us around, acting as unwanted tour guides, stressing us out, and then asking for money as we exited the mountain. We explored the forgotten sidewalks and stairs of mountains nearby, climbing and climbing, winding our way to the top for the view we knew would be worth it. At the top of the mountain it was less humid. It smelled clean and fresh and the air was crisp. A good place to relax and rest, and a place that had me realizing I was more of a hiker than a statue-see-er.

We took an overnight train that night to Nha Trang, the touristy beach town, with full intensions of making it a spa day. And spa day it was. We got full massages, including steam room, sauna, and tip, for $8. It was weird when they told us no clothes. We walked around in towels to cover up, not used to the culture of baring it all. The massages were a mixture of pain and pleasure. I wasn’t expecting such strong hands from a girl who only came up to my chin, and she had to hold herself down with the ceiling to make my back crack when she walked on it. The hardest part was communicating to her that my knee didn’t bend the way she was pushing it as she stretched my make-shift ACL into unnatural positions. All I could do was point to the scar, but she was so terrified she almost stopped completely when I showed her. Funny things happen when you don’t speak another’s language.

Later we attempted mani-pedis, advertised in a brochure for $1. Their version of manicure is much different than ours, and the pedicure part must’ve been a typo, because they seemed appalled when we picked out nail polish colors for our toes. $1 is never wasted though; it’s only an experience. My fingers look squeaky clean now.

Food was our main hobby and pastime when we didn’t know what to do. I lived of pho and banana pancakes, and I can’t wait to look up the recipes for both when I get real internet again. Ben ordered pho with every meal, while Rolo ordered a coke with every meal, even breakfast. The banana pancakes were more like crepes, but they were cooked and fried and crispy and perfect. I miss them as much as I miss the chai tea from the Him-ah-lias.

Crossing the street in all of Vietnam was an adventure in itself, so much that I videoed many of our attempts. Cross walks exist, but are more of a reference point. The whole ordeal is really a trusting, understanding, and intimate moment between you and 40 motobike/car drivers/complete strangers coming at you without slowing down. There is no break in traffic. You put your foot into the road, and don’t break stride until you reach the curb on the other side of the street. Walking slowly is key. Running is bad. Stopping is bad. I’d say it’s the equivalent of the old woman in Mulan who covers her eyes and walks across the road. If I covered my eyes and walked slowly across the road, I would have the same outcome. It was mad. I’m crossing my fingers I’ll be able to get a video up to show everyone.

After Vietnam, I realize we were spoiled terribly by the Himalayas. Vietnam was amazing. I liked talking to people and eating and dealing with traffic and sightseeing. But I loved being in India where no one else was going, where there were no tourists, where the path was less traveled. I’ve found I love exploring nature, hiking mountains, seeing caves. I love the scenery. Statues are cool, shrines are neat. But they’re something I can see in 10 minutes and be done with. I can never get enough of the breathtaking views of the Himalayas. The scene when you hike is always changing. It’s not that the Himalayas had more things to do or see, it’s just that it more suited my personality.

If China plans work out, I’ll be getting a dose of both, and a lot more mountains and nature than Vietnam. Cross your fingers! I can’t wait.

One funny thing I liked in Vietnam was that, unlike us, they can’t tell the difference between English-speaking accents. We can tell if someone is from Australia or Great Britain or the U.S. If I talk to someone in the market, they ask “Are you from Australia?” All they know is that I speak English. They can’t identify where I’m from. I feel like we speak so slowly, like we’re so easy to understand, but that’s not the case. It’s very interesting.

A strange and kind of disturbing part of Vietnam we noticed was inside war museums. We visited two while in the country, and both had the same feel. It was cool to see the pictures and big planes and helicopters and tanks that sat in front of the buildings, but when I began reading the descriptions of everything, I noticed a biased outlook on the war. Some pictures would read “This is where Vietnamese captured x number of pilots” or a tank, or a plane, or a group of soldiers. However, when it was us who did the capturing, the signs read “This is a photo of American soldiers beating, torturing, killing, shooting, bombing, fill in the blank”. If I’m not mistaken, the war was brutal on both sides, maybe even more-so for us, but anyone learning about it through the museum would see Americans as terrible and barbaric. Pictures of the after effects of napalm bombs and other weapons and methods of torture took up entire exhibits, but it was all things the Americans had done to the Vietnamese. It was a very interesting and depressing outlook on the war. In the real world and current times, Vietnamese people had forgotten about the war completely. They really do think we’re “to-tally aw-some”, and we like them too.

If I’m writing tomorrow it means I had a fever when I tried to get off the ship in Hong Kong. You walk through an electronic sensory heat detector image thing. IF you’re sick, you get back on the ship. Maybe I’ll take an ibuprofen just to be safe!

Seas are the roughest they’ve been yet. The ship hits waves and sounds like it could very well break in half. Last night at dinner, we hit an especially big wave, and as a result everone’s plates and cups and food went spilling off the table. A moment of friendship among everyone in the dining room. Some made new friends when they accidentally fell into them.

This morning I ate breakfast and put a sea sickness patch on for the first time all voyage. I was sitting in classroom 8, directly next to the union at the bow of the ship, except set up to face backwards of the direction the ship is going. 15 minutes into class I was laying on the floor, supporting my head. 30 minutes later I had decided it might be best to go downstairs and lay in my bed, the place with the least motion. As soon as I stood up to leave, by body said “What? You’re going to the bathroom now? GREAT!” That’s as much detail as I’ll go into. Let me add that I had soup and three brownies for lunch. Hopefully there will be pudding for dinner. The general consensus on the ship is that we’re all very excited to hit land tomorrow.