So I've been sitting on the stories contained in the latter half of this quick trip to Vietnam I took back in September/October. A lot has happened since then and the triumphs and micro-dramas entwined with these memories seem so incredibly petty, I wonder if they are even worth writing about. But a little voice in the back of my mind, and a number of friends, tell me they are. So here it goes, in no particular order.
Flying into DeNang airport on that sunny Tuesday morning, I knew I was going to have some ignorant American moments but I had no idea how personally it was going to affect me. The airport was fresh and shiny but you couldn't help but notice the vast expanse of abandoned hangers and grown over air strips directly adjacent. As I hopped in a cab with some of my fellow classmates and the vastly knowledgable John Bell, we proceeded to be graced with a local history tour. The vacant air base and miles of half demolished homes studded the landscape in stark contrast with the beachside resorts, villas, golf course, and high rise hotels. It served as a strong visual reminder that what bombs, guns, and nepalm did not accomplish, the promise of a slice of western oppulance did in a big way.
I knew the war museum in DeNang was going to be a somber experience, I was not prepared to feel such a well of emotions as I viewed gruesome photos and artifacts telling tales from beyond the brink of humanity. It made me feel ashamed and angry all at once. Many of the pictures featured dead, or captured U.S. soldiers. These are young men of my parents' generation, sent overseas to die for a cause they likely didn't understand or believe in. There is nothing productive about war. However, as the trip progressed and we met some local tourism entrepreneurs, it became apparent that the positive cultural influence of numerous military presences of this place are now inseparably part of the heritage. The French influenced architecture is one of the draws to little Hoi An, after all. And on a more personal note, I think the crude, simple charm of somewhere like Hoa's Place in China Beach is invigorating and cherish any opportunity to enjoy delicious French pastries, even in a town in Vietnam.
The longest day had to be the one in which we toured all day, broke into an abandoned Cham temple, visited the hauntingly beautiful remains of My Son, and finally I was accidently poisoned by a well-meaning vegan couple. While I wasn't too happy about having to miss presentations and vomiting a fair bit in the charming Buddhist monastery, as well as the side of a busy road on the way back to town, I did not go into anaphylaxis so I consider it a positive outcome. I ate nuts at a temple in Vietnam over an hour away from medical facilities and lived to tell the tale. Maybe Asia isn't as scary as I thought.
Some of my favorite moments were getting lost on the way back to the hotel at night. I was sort of alone but not, so no safety issues. My sense of direction has a whimsical sense of humor, so a few times I found myself in the rice paddies on the edge of town enjoying the concert of frogs and insects that preform most warm evenings despite a pathetic turn out audience-wise. Sometimes the sky would spontaneously open up to a deluge and you'd get to skip home in the soggy tropical streets looking like you just jumped in the pool. On dry nights, you could just jump in the pool for the same effect.
The day after all the fieldwork was completed, I went kayaking on the local river with a classmate, the guy who's wife accidentally poisoned me, and one of the lecturers. It didn't occur to me that I'd be the only girl to join this activity. The 'boat launch' spot was a little family house located on the riverbank, rustic but very inviting and homey. We trudged through knee deep bank mud to get our boats into the river then paddled up river for about an hour and a half. My scrawny, out of shape, nerd arms couldn't really keep up with the other three guys so I enjoyed the solitude and surroundings as I kept pace a few meters behind. Eventually our 'guide' decided to drop back and keep me company. It was lovely conversation so long as we stayed away from the whole vegan issue. Apparently there's a monastery in Hue where I can go to live off rice and spices and meditate my body out of being allergic to foods. While that sounds great to my optimistic idealist side, my practical side is screaming "Bad Idea!!!". Alas, the time and money for such journeys are luxuries I have given up for now. So you win practical side....this time.
After concluding the educational and athletic pursuit that was paddling, we were all invited to join the family (remember this was at a house...oh yes, on a Sunday no less) for a beautiful lunch. This meal featured a variety of fresh catch straight from the river we were sitting atop as well as heaps of local greens wrapped up in spring rolls. Then there was a 'rice wine' served out of a repurposed Johnny Walker bottle. Grandpa and Uncle were fond of the hooch and keen to share. They found it highly amusing that I was infrequent to refuse the next shot....and there were many. These were clear spirits to singe your throat and cleanse your memory. It did just that. Despite massive language barriers, the feast and festivities continued for a few hours..so I'm told. But for me it was more of a cut to next scene situation. That next scene being one of my other classmates coming to check on me and make sure I didn't miss my train to Ho Chi Min. It was perfect timing, I made the train and slowly one of the worst hangovers of my life set in on a hot, smelly, crowded train ride lasting just over 17 hours. I had some fun on this journey, playing with the kids sharing my sleeping car and making friends with a few locals on the train that could speak some English.
Most of the rest of the trip was fairly uneventful but enjoyable. I look forward to time and resources in the future to properly experience this corner of the world. Thank you to all who made this brief adventure fun, mostly safe, and highly educational.
As of late, I've been further pondering the meaning, purpose, place and work involved with this concept of 'home'. Being an alien in a land that you love like an old friend, it grates on me to constantly have to justify and explain my existence here. "Where are you from?", a constantly fielded question. And I know nobody means any harm by it but it is not a simple answer for me. I come from a place that does not physically exist anymore, as really we all do. The exact geographical location of my early years can be pinned down to the greater DC area but it was really despite the culture I came to consciousness in not because of it that I am the way I am. Why don't we define ourselves by the place we choose to be presently, rather than the place we just happen to come from?
