it's 40k kilometers around the world's circumference
While in Hoi An and in central Vietnam, I wanted to see what the goings-on are of the countryside. I found a bicycle tour that would take me around the islands adjacent to Hoi An and explain some of the local craft and handy skills. While on the tour, I saw wood steam-bending, shell cutting, wood carving, mat weaving, water freezing, brick manufacturing, peanut and rice picking, and basket boat making.
My Son is a Vietnamese name for a cluster of temple ruins that bears no relation to its English meaning. The phrase “the boys”, however, is intended to have exactly its American connotation.
In an attempt to avoid the tourists at My Son, I left in the mid-afternoon from Hoi An and pay a motorbike driver less than it would’ve cost for gasoline in my Prius to take me to My Son. On our way, we fly through narrow roads surrounded by rice fields and farmland, and during the hour drive, I learn the smells of Vietnam. I smell exhaust on the road, trash burning next to it, incense sticks, and occasionally fresh air. When we arrive to My Son, it was just as I had hoped and there are less than 10 tourists wandering through a space that could accommodate many more and still feel empty.
With my camera in one hand and the Kindle version of Lonely Planet in the other, I navigate my way through the ruins trying to come with the perfect photo while still learning which building was intended for which purpose. After covering about half of the ruins, I find a group sitting in a circle and listening to music. It is unclear how everything progressed, but I soon find myself in their circle, we compare music tastes, and we share our snacks. I learn that they are all currently attending a university in a near-by town, De Nang, and are just visiting the ruins as an afternoon break from school. A couple snacks later, they ask my evening plans, I tell them none, and we decide that they should come back with me to Hoi An. Throughout it all, we communicate either very slowly in English or by writing notes to each other. They could understand almost anything I wrote despite having some trouble understanding me verbally.
Between the five of them and me, we pile on four motorbikes and work our way back. I was particularly happy not to be driving at this point as the sky was turning black with only the almost full moon, the occasional street light, and the bikes less-than-powerful headlight to drive by. We get back to town, and the first thing we do is eat. I am not entirely certain what I am eating because we eat next to the street on what seemed light children’s red play furniture. The food was good and cheap. Dinner cost less than $0.50 per person. With full stomachs, we walked the streets of Hoi An, before coming across another inexpensive and local restaurant. We ordered beers, some fried food, and I took out my deck of cards. I let them teach me a new game because with our communication barriers, 5 teaching 1 is clearly superior to 1 trying to teach 5. During the rest of the night, I really enjoy the game and their company.
The Vietnamese, both tonight with the boys and the other day with Quynh Chi, have been so welcoming and warm to me. In twenty years, I think it will be these faces that I will remember the most about my time in Vietnam.
Hoi An was just a short bus ride south of Hue. The food, feel and architecture of Hoi An reflects its many influences of Chinese, Japanese, Dutch, and Indian styles. This is especially true of Chinese and Japanese because for many years, they both regarded Hoi An as one of the best trading towns in all of Southeast Asia. And although the town’s prominance fell after the collapse of the Nguyen Dynasty, at which point the nearby town of Da Nang became a center for trade, Hoi An has escaped much of the damage that many other historical Vietnamese sites have seen over the last century.
The Imperial City, Hue’s main attraction, reminded me of a beaten up Beijing Forbidden City. It’s grandeur, size and elaborate architecture were obvious despite the natural disasters and bombs that have left this great relic only a fraction what it might be. Between 1802 and 1945, the Imperial City was the capital of the Nguyen Dynasty.
After a visit to the forbidden city, I walked the smaller, less touristy streets, and took a short ride on a boat down the Song Huong (Perfume River).
On a different note, the mix of influences from French to Chinese was clear from the variation in architecture around the city. This photo is the view from my bedroom window.
As I travel and search for new cultural experiences, I want to try the local foods, see how different people lead their lives, and start to understand the world as they do. Having dinner with Quynh and her family is this authentic experience. I arrive at her home complete with a small store front, several bedrooms, a kitchen, a small dining room, a chicken pen, and her big family. Quynh has 4 other sisters, all of whom live at home with their father, mother, grandparents, and two dogs. The newest addition to the family at only 6 months old is Susu. When I arrive, I meet most of the players as we all congregate in the front while the father mans the store of cigarettes, snacks, and drinks.
After a tour of the home, much playing with the baby, and getting to the know the family while using a couple of the sisters as translator’s, it is time for dinner. At this point, one of the sister’s boyfriends also enters the scene, making dinner a crowded occasion. As would happen in my family, the adults sit at one table and the kids sit at another. The parents and grandparents sit in the dining room, while the kids sit outside around a small table.
The food is traditional and at times, too traditional. I try everything on the table, and as I am eating, the five sisters continue adding more to my plate. Most of the dishes I enjoy even if I have little idea what it is I’m actually consuming, and half way through the meal, I realize not knowing is probably easier than knowing. One of the sisters puts something in my plate, and because they like to joke and try to mislead me, I assume when they say it’s a pig’s tail, they are trying to get a reaction out of me. I give them their reaction as my face cringes, but I learn that they are not joking and slowly work my way around the cartilage in the center of the tail.
The night ends where it began, in the front near the street. We drink tea, laugh, and learn about each others’ cultures and customs while I thank them repeatedly for their hospitality using the new Vietnamese vocabulary I learned during the day. Half jokingly, one of Quynh’s sisters keeps questioning me if I want to take Quynh back to the States with me. I respond with an uncomfortable smile and an enthusiastic yes. The follow up question is then do I want to take one of the other sisters back with me. Again I smile, blush, and respond that the whole family should come to California. They all laugh at me, and I feel relieved. Before leaving, we arrange ourselves in many permutations for a quick photo shoot so that we all can remember the night.
More than the inspiring sites and adrenaline-pumping activities, it is experiences like these that are making traveling so exciting.
I’m on a flight to Hue and sitting next to two Hue locals, Quynh and her grandfather. Although only a short flight, through broken English, Quynh and I have enough time to cover the basics– names, jobs, home towns, and families. And before parting ways, we make a tentative plan to meet up the next day and she gives me her contact info. A couple dollar SIM card later, I give her a call and we set up a time for her to come pick me up on her motorbike from the very simple and nice Hong Thien Hotel (the first A/C room I’ve enjoyed in two weeks). Still not convinced that she is actually coming, I wait outside and soon after she pulls up with an extra helmet in hand.
We go to a couple of the more famous pagados and tombs in Hue before visiting her mother and sisters at the local market, where they tend to two different shops. Trying to keep up with Quynh in the market is a challenge as she weaves in and out of the many obstacles of the already narrow passageways. At one point, she and her sister run off and I am left sitting alone at the booth. I am tempted to attract customers in the many ways that I have experienced. As someone passes by, protocol is to tell them hello and ask where they are from or what they are looking for. I did not say anything; I restrained myself.
Although her English is fragmented, Quynh gives me Vietnamese language lessons throughout the day so that I can at least communicate hello, goodbye, and thank you. She shows me her favorite sites in the city with pride and excitement for each location. Quynh is an excellent tour guide, and to complete the day, she invites me back to her family’s home for dinner, which results in a very authentic Hue experience.
Growing up in the US education system, it’s almost hard to imagine that Vietnam has such a long history before the Vietnam War. The first time Vietnam appears in textbooks is in the chapters on the Vietnam war in the second half of the 20th century. With a little extra research, I learned that Vietnam has a history stretching as far back as Paleolithic times—when humans were beginning to realize the advantage of using stone tools. There is recorded Vietnamese history as far back as a couple hundred years BCE before even the Chinese had consolidated Vietnam’s land into its empire. The Chinese then ruled for only about 1000 years—one full millennium. The ancientness of these places that I am visiting is hard to fully grasp. The recorded history of California if we go by the first European explorers is about 1550. There were of course the indigenous people of California, the Native Americans, before the European explorers; however, there is very limited recorded history from this long period. The first Vietnamese state arguably existed in the 3rd century BCE, and America became independent only in 1776. The fact that I don’t know anything about Vietnam pre-1950 is embarrassing, and I wanted to at least learn some basics before arriving.
I skimmed through bits and pieces of Stanley Karnow’s book, “Vietnam: A History” to get an idea of this rich history so that when presented with its relics, I hoped I would have a larger appreciation of what I was looking at. I wanted to have a reaction when visiting sites other than those having significance from the Vietnam War.
However, given that I am an American in a country that has had such a difficult history with America, the Vietnam/American War cannot be ignored. The Vietnam War, lasting twenty years starting in 1955, is something I’ve heard about from my parents generation and read about in history class. I learned the bigger issues and the major players and why the US wanted to contain the spread of communism. I have been told about the controversy with US involvement and of the casualties that ensued. The 58,159 U.S. Service members that died is unfortunately a small number compared to the 200,000 plus Cambodians and undetermined but frighteningly large number of Vietnamese. The estimated numbers of Vietnamese soldiers and civilians that were killed during the war range from around 1,000,000 to greater than 3,000,000 people.
I come to Vietnam with an open mind, and from what I’ve heard, I feel that the sentiment is reciprocated.
I have a long layover in Bangkok between arriving on the overnight bus and departing on a plane to Vietnam later in the day. I realize that college classmate Nithya and her cousin Sangita are in Bangkok, coordinate a plan to meet up, and we make the most of the morning. In a short time, we wander through the Bangkok Flower Market, see the largest golden Buddha in the world at Wat Traimit, and window shop at the several story MBK in the center of town, all before settling down to a Thai lunch.
I have been in and around Chiang Mai for about two weeks and am sad to leave but ready to move to my next destination. Before leaving, there are a couple more sights, sounds, and smells that I want to experience.
At one stop in the Warorot Market, I have a chance to shop as the locals do. There are less wooden elephants, more practical items, and many fabrics. The colors coming from the fabric shops almost make me wish I know how to make something with it all; but instead, I am happy to realize that the clothing I already bought was sewn from those colorful rolls. When my feet began to tire, I take a break upon finding a stand selling sticky rice with mango, which I eat while watching a seemingly important Muay Thai boxing match on a television with other emotional locals. Rice, mango, Muay Thai, hot temperatures, humid weather, the smells of food from an open market, sights of cloth, and shops selling everything from kids toys to motorcycles made me feel like I am starting to better understand Chiang Mai.
In addition, in my last 24 hours in Chiang Mai, I visit the Women’s Prison. Rumor has it that many of these women are being taught translatable skills that they can then use to get their lives back on track, and one of these skills is that of Thai massage. The money that the women earn while massaging gets put away and then is given back to them when they leave the prison as an aid in getting their lives restarted. Surprisingly, the atmosphere of this massage spa is one of the nicer I’ve experienced since away. Although the massage isn’t great, I am happy that I learned about the programs happening at the prison and had a chance to contribute a small amount while getting an extra massage in the process.
Lastly, I visit the Chiang Mai Zoo and Aquarium. The other visitors are mostly Bangkok tourists as becomes obvious when the tram driver only speaks in Thai. The zoo is a typical zoo, where the animals are placed in areas a bit too confined and many onlookers wait for the animals to do something spectacular like Mumble’s dance from Happy Feet. The Aquarium, on the other hand, I really enjoy from the fresh water tunnel to the obscure and beautiful sea creatures to the scuba diver feeding some of the larger fish. I also notice some fish, such as the stone fish and clown fish, that I had seen just several weeks ago while scuba diving in Bali. In the afternoon, sun turns to rain, everyone rushes for their cars and taxis, and back at the guest house, I do my last preparations before my sleeper bus.
As with most places I’ve already visited, the people I met during these two weeks made the experience. These include the silent yet smiling other meditators at Doi Suthep, Aurelieu, my French friend, Beth, another meditator who I randomly ran into on the street after the retreat, Earl, a local from Chiang Mai, as well as those I had spent time with pre-monastery. I leave my second guest house, Grace House located on Soi 9 of the old city, watch out for any water-spraying Songkran celebrators, and make my way back to the bus station.
Songkran, as celebrated in Thailand, is the traditional New Year’s Day and includes a celebration that lasts almost a week. In each of my last two days in Chiang Mai, this festival began, the music got louder and more abundant, and the water wars were beginning in full force. Tradition is that people cover each other in water to celebrate the clean slate given to all at the beginning of a new year. All weapons are allowed from water guns to buckets to garden hoses, and every street I walk down, I try to spot any potential threats. I don’t mind the water guns, but it’s the buckets of water that can really do damage. Unfortunately (or fortunately because of the 95 degree weather), I was hit by a bucket right next door to my guest house while my guard was down. From a safe distance, here she is smiling while holding her weapon of choice.
I am dripping in water and many faces from around the street are smiling and some are laughing. I look at the culprit, and she is probably a little over 10 years old and has the biggest grin of anyone. I smile back, and continue walking down the street missing my guest house because I am understandably flustered. A little farther down, a couple, who witnessed the whole bucket-drenching event shot me benignly with their water guns and ask if I want to borrow one to get a little revenge. I take the biggest one I can find, the one where you stick the end in water and fill the gun like a giant syringe. I hide my weapon behind my back, approach the girl who is still smiling, wait for her to dump her water on the next unsuspecting passerby, and I get a clean hit on her back. My dignity is saved and I now feel I had a chance to play a role in the water wars of Songkran.