Northbound Train

After two nights in Hoi An, Sarah and I headed north to My Khe to check the surf. Still churned up by the storm, the ocean was disorganized and a mess so we ended up missing the train to Hanoi and spending the next day wandering the streets of Da Nang, the 4th largest town in Vietnam, a business center, where we saw not a single Westerner for 24 hours. We did, however, eat soup alone in a pink banquet hall and played rummy, much to the amusement of the curious staff.

I love trains. The pace, the history, the idea of a train is beautiful. The train that stretches along the Vietnamese coast was renamed the Reunification Express in 1976. I've seen few signs of this quasi-Communist country- a splattering of propaganda billboards and a few large Communist Youth Work Parties that marched through the streets of Hoi An in hunter green uniform, red star cap and shovels over their right shoulder. This train was "bombed by the Japanese to destroy the country, bombed by the Americans to divide the country and rebuilt after the war to reunite the country," or so "they" say.

On the train we were able to put a window down. Feeling the wind, slow dancing with the mountains, the ocean below us, gave me an indescribable feeling of joy. We ate hard boiled eggs with salt and pepper, played cards on the top bunk bed and drank Mirinda and Hanoi Vodka before bed. We woke up to Hanoi, the 1000 year-old capital of Vietnam.

Typhoons and Landslides

The typhoon was expected to hit Na Trang on Saturday night so we booked an over-night bus ticket to Hoi An. At 7:30pm the bus picked us up and we made our way north along the coast. Darkness gusted in stronger winds and we could feel the bus shake as it hugged mountains on one side and a churning ocean on the other. About three hours into the trip we slowed down, I woke up and saw a bus infront of us slwoly turning around. There was a stir amongst the crowd of people onboard. A landslide the size of a small mountain stretched across the sea and crumbled over the road into the ocean. After a heated discussion that I couldn't understand, the bus crew decided to turn the bus around, inch by inch on the narrow road. The three point turn took atleast twenty minutes, during which time I contemplated death--death by landslide or by the sea...?

I thought perhaps we would head back into Nha Trang, or find shelter elsewhere for the night. I guess we turned around just for gas and bathroom because before too long we were back in nearly the same place. Waiting four hours on the bus for a crew to clear the road, windows and doors clamped shut to protect us from gusting typhoon winds and rains, made for a miserable night. I thought I might suffocate. And again I contemplated death. Suffocation seemed to be the worst option and just as I wondered if I could get off the bus and try to sleep outside, the bus started up and headed toward Hoi An.


The floods had receded in Hoi An and the ancient town with narrow cobbled roads, wooden houses hundreds of years old, and temples and Chinese Assembly Halls on every street corner was buzzing with tourists. Sarah and I wandered through the market, tried a local food specialty. Banh Xeo is a rice crepe thats rolled and fried with shrimp and bean sprouts. We walked along the river, drunk with rain and spilling over the streets at high tide. Only a week before our arrival, our hotel, 5 streets off the waterfront was flooded as high as the reception desk. In the afternoon, we ran into Laura and Ashley, friends we met on the Mekong River. The travel community in Asia is quite small and its been fun to see the same people in different places throughout. We joined the couple for dinner that night at Miss Ly's Cafeteria where we sampled more local food specialies--fried wonton and the white rose.

Perhaps what I loved most about Hoi An was the moss, fat on the sides of ancient homes, the tiled roofs, and the bogs infront of every pagoda and temple. I love the colors--neon pinks, yellows, reds and purples of the Chinese lanterns, handmade shoes and the plethora of cloth shops. The market, teeming with energy, sales, and colorful produce-splashes of color and texture, it smells like the fish that splash in tubs shared with bound frogs, snails and crabs- the sea smell offset with the stark and pleasant wisps of incense that drift lazily down the streets, lighted at every family alter.

Broken patterns

There's a typhoon passing over Nha Trang. Sarah and I wandered to the beach to watch the surf. Freight trains of white water rolled in. I found green and cloudy sea glass and thought of home. At home I never find pottery with sea-worn edges, broken patterns of blues and greens. I picked up the pieces scattered all over the beach and I brushed them off to bring with me back home.

A Vietnamese Thanksgiving with Drunk Russian Men

We were waiting for a bus that never came when someone told us that a typhoon was on a path directly to the flooded streets of Hoi An, our next destination. Our bus driver had forgotten us, but sent an old army jeep with a torn leather roof and rusted-out floor to pick us up and carry us to another bus. 6 hours and one break-down later we were dropped off at a guest house in Nha Trang, a beach town about 12 hours south of Hoi An.

Donning our best holiday outfits, Sarah and I headed into the rain. Nearly two weeks had passed since I last drank red wine in LA with my uncles and I was eager for a good glass of a French red, a toast to Thanksgiving. Wine in Vietnam comes mostly from Dalat, in the cental highlands. Excited to try a local wine, when I first arrived in Saigon I had bought a small bottle for $2 at the market. With great anticipation, Sarah and I toasted a glass- to Vietnam, to traveling, to adventure- and I brought the glass to my lips, took a sip and spit it right back out.

As soon as we sat down at Truc Luc, a seafood restaurant near our guesthouse, I ordered a glass of red and pumpkin soup (it seemed thanksgiving-y). A few sips later and one of the Vietnemese waitresses giggled and whispered in my ear that another table wanted us to have more wine. Soon we had four full glasses of red wine on the table. The men who sent the wine turned out to be Russians, in fine form, on business in Vietnam for two weeks. We declined joining them for dinner and from our table watched one of them take a nap in his chair.

I was feeling like this was the start to a memorable Thanksgiving dinner when the entire restaurant started waving their arms and singing happy birthday to a man who was dining at the table next to ours. One of the waitresses played with my hair while another giggled and pointed at the drunk Russian men. Soon after I finished fresh grouper in lemongrass and chilli, the waitress brought us both baileys and coffee and I couldn't help but join the Russian men for a drink and good laugh. Calling themselves Mike 1 and Mike 2 they declared that Vietnemese vodka is almost as fine as Russian vodka- so I had to try. It was the restaurant's second birthday and the waitstaff was planning a party as soon as everyone left. They started singing karaoke and dancing around while we all enjoyed a shot or two of vodka and toasts to our respective countries.

When we returned to our hotel the phone rang three times and we ignored the calls. Then I heard a knock on the door. A man told us that we had visitors in the lobby. I asked if they were drunk and Russian. He confirmed. They must have followed us back in the rain. I said that we would be taking no visitors. Sarah and I played rumy instead.

Saigon

Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) is a dizzying sea of motorbikes. Crossing the street is like playing dodgeball or chicken with bikes, motorbikes and buses, but the stakes are much higher. In a city with 10 million people, 5 million own motorbikes. No one wears a helment. The morning after Sarah and I arrived into town we stood on one side of the street and waited to see how the locals crossed. Three old women grabbed arms and shuffled inch by inch into the crowd. A slow pace gives the motorbikes a chance to dodge you. Pedestrians just giggle at each other, especially at the terrified faces of westerners. One old woman grabbed Sarah's hand and led us both across. Another time, a man walked out and held up his hand to help Sarah and me feel more comfortable. He represents the second most striking aspect of Vietnam. The people are genuine. In Central America and Egypt I was accustomed to constant pestering, begging for money. Men hissed and kissed and taunted, sometimes so much that I felt unsafe. Vietnamese men just smile and wave and go about with their day.

Our second day in Saigon Sarah and I took a bus out to the Cu Chi Tunnels. These complex and brilliant tunnels became legendary in the 1960s for their role in faciliating Viet Cong control of a large rural area outside of Saigon and just under the noses of American land and air operations. On the bus ride I kept saying Vietnam outloud to try and make it feel real. The word has a heaviness that I can never fully grasp. I think about my children telling me in 30 years that they will be traveling through Iraq and this helps put it all in perspective. The countryside is green jungle and the people come to the streets to let their children grin and wave at us in the bus. I listen to Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez war protest songs on my ipod and try to take myself to a different time but I can't. The Cu Chi Tunnels are a popular destination for tourists and Vietnamese school children. We see B52 bomb craters and go into the top level of the tunnels where the VC squatted in the dark for weeks or months at a time. Tens of thousands of Vietnamese and Americans lost their lives on these grounds. I hear gunshots and feel nauseated that tourists can pay 25 cents to shoot guns at fake targets on site. 3 million Vietnamese died. 3-4 million lost limbs. 60,000 US soldiers died in this strange and faraway land. Countless Vietnamese children were born with birth defects on account of the heavy and arbitrary use of Agent Orange. Its haunting. I'm glad there is peace here now and that I can pass through just 30 years later. I wonder about nearly ever middle aged man and woman that I see, especially the armless, footless that I walk around in the street.

In the early mornings we walked through the park near the Reunification Palace in Saigon. Men and women stretch alone. They stand still and swing their arms. Everyone else plays badmitton. Badmitton! Who ever thinks about badmitton!? I love it.

After a few days in Saigon, Sarah and I headed south into the Mekong Delta. We took a boat to floating markets on the river. Men and women paddle around us conducting business with their boats sinking low, heavy with bannanas, durian, dragon fruit and papayas. Dragon fruit is the most beautiful with its neon pink body and green spiky leaves. The fruit grows on cactus-like plants that cover the land in the south. This fruit grows nowhere else in the world.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner we eat Phu--a hot soup with rice noodles. On the Mekong I have a fried elephant ear fish for lunch. We see how the men and women make rice paper, rice noodles, rice pop cakes, coconut candy and coconut crepes. As we boat by, men and women point to us and their children wave and wave, making their parents laugh. The children are always with an adult, always playing. Everyone waves, its like a parade and my hand nearly gets tired. One afternoon I ordered a king Cobra in satay for lunch. It tated about like you think a snake might taste, but hope it won't. Sarah and I both tried snake wine. The Vietnamese pickle a snake and bottle it in rice wine. Again, its too snakey for me. The Vietnamese say it has healing powers. I say wine works just fine for me.

Sarah and I took a 5-hour bus to Mui Ne yesterday. We checked into a room that hangs over the South China Sea. The beach is clean, the water is warm, palm trees outline the beach. There is no surf, but I'm happy to relax a bit. We've hardly stopped since we got off the plane and I have finally shaken the cold that gripped my voice for 3 days. Its nice to take a moment before we continue traveling north. Our next destination is Hoi An. We leave tomorrow at 1pm and arrive the next morning at 5am. There has been heavy flooding and we have received mixed advice on whether its okay to travel. Some people have gotten stuck, some people say its just fine. Hoi An is a charm of a town that I cannot resist.

North North, heading into Northern Vietnam. War and peace. Time. I fumble with these words, unsure of so many things. I have much to learn about the world.