Vietnam was a whole different world. I'm not entirely sure what I mean by that, but I get the sense that the clouds take different forms, sound travels in a less straightforward manner and the air around has simply a different texture to that in any other country I've visited. Colors there come from an unknown spectrum, with vibrant brown greens and iridescent blue pinks. Yet, for all the newness, it never really felt strange or unnatural. It always seemed like the way Vietnam should be. I sensed that it was exactly as I would have expected it if I had been able to preconceive a notion of how it would be. But I wasn't. (See what I mean about it being a different world?)
On my first day in Ho Chi Minh City, I was surrounded everywhere I went by children offering to sell postcards for "one dollar!", men riding cyclos offering me a ride anywhere for "one dollar!", and women carrying small children requesting "one dollar!" just on general principle. At one point, a young girl followed me for 10 minutes, going so far as to put a stack of postcards in my pocket and demanding that I pay her one dollar. My attempts to get away only served to make her more aggressive. By the end of the day, I think I was completely hardened against anyone ever again asking me for money. But then I thought about it. And I decided that maybe I should lighten up, buy a few postcards, and maybe talk to some of them instead of turning a blind eye and hoping they don't see me.
On my second day, a young girl tried to sell me English language books. I believe my choices were MacBeth and The Great Gatsby for only one dollar each. She opened them up so I could see they were good books - in my language. I looked at the words before me and just started reading to her, as if it were story hour. She wasn't too keen on this waste of her business time and so she just shouted to me, "Blah, blah, blah!" I wondered if she had learned that phrase in English, or if perhaps it carries a similar meaning in every language. After a little more conversation, I paid her a dollar.
My third day brought with it a massage at the infamous Rex Hotel. It seemed to end rather abruptly, but after checking my watch, I was quite surprised to learn that the 60 minutes I had paid for had indeed passed. It was kind of strange at times. When someone was approaching in the hallway, the masseuse stopped what she was doing and did something else - as if she was doing something she shouldn't be doing. But I can verify that my massage was definitely not the X-rated version (well...maybe PG-13). Well, I didn't think she had anything to hide, but when it was over, she had me leave out a back door and made a "Shhhh" motion, as if to say I should never speak of what had happened there between us, not to her manager, not to her lover, not to my girlfriend or parents. And come to think of it, I don't think I did tell my girlfriend or parents. If you ask me, that's a bad way of doing business - closing off the word of mouth advertising. And she did a good job, too, especially in maintaining her balance while walking on my back.
The Rex is a bastion of America pretence in the heart of Ho Chi Minh City. Prices are quoted in dollars (in fact prices appear somewhat American too - that was the most expensive place I stopped in the city) and the doorman insures that the panhandlers do not follow expatriates into the lobby, allowing them a moment of tranquility from the shouts of "One dollar!" and "You will buy!" Of course, with the tranquility also comes guilt. As you sip your cocktail in peace or enjoy the pleasure and pain of a small woman walking on your back, you realize how much more meaningful the few dollars you're spending could have been to those waiting for you outside.
Not all that often, but once in a while, a feeling of "I'm definitely in a communist country" floated through my head. In the post office, they had 10 or 12 booths for international calls. I believe you can call America from any of them, but Americans can only use Booth 12. I'm guessing that's the one monitored by the English speaking interpreter.
In the reunification palace, I got that old communist feeling just reading their brochure. As the hall was home to the South Vietnamese president, it was the target of North Vietnamese troops when they overtook the city in April 1975. The brochure spoke of how extremely happy everyone in Vietnam was to have Saigon fall because it united the brothers of North and South Vietnam. I'm not the biggest history or political science buff, but my sense is that at least a few of those in the South would have preferred independence from the North (and France and the U.S and...). But maybe they were happy. And maybe they have to say that.
A day trip took me about 70 kilometers northwest of Ho Chi Minh City to the vast Cu Chi tunnel network utilized by the Viet Cong during the "American War" (as the Vietnamese call it). They were actually built as a means of communicating and hiding by the Viet Minh in their fight against the French, but were still in working order for the Viet Cong to launch attacks against the U.S. soldiers. As I crawled on my belly through pitch darkness past bats and through spider webs, I couldn't help but contemplate what it could have been like thirty years earlier, when soldiers about my age crawled through that same space, perhaps hoping to survive to see the end of the day. With these thoughts filling my head, it was perhaps the most surreal moment in my travels when I emerged from beneath the forest floor to the snap and rattle of machine guns spraying and people screaming. I felt an urge to duck to the ground as reality temporarily blurred with all the war movies I'd seen. And I'm not sure that my surroundings began to make any more sense when I realized what was happening. There was a rifle range and tourists were paying 5 or 10 dollars to shoot the rifles left behind by American soldiers. Someone even asked me for a few bucks so he could fire a few shots. Unthinking, I handed him a few bucks and then turned and walked the other way.
Later, I asked my guide Dung what children learn in school about the Vietnam War. Firstly, he noted that they call it the "American" war. Secondly, he said many Vietnamese referred to the American Occupation as the "New French" because the Americans looked and acted much the same way the French did when they came to Vietnam. But he also said students are taught that 90% of Americans disagreed with the American imperialist government involvement in Vietnam. And this is partly why they hold no grudge today, because they are able to separate the individual Americans from the actions of the U.S. government - something I'm not sure most Americans visiting Vietnam can do.
Ryan Forsythe visited Vietnam in October 1998 while working for the Semester at Sea study abroad program. Comments or questions can be directed to ryan@forsythe.to.
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