Bow Nee Oh Dee Uhn

That means ‘how much for this’ in Vietnamese and I must have asked that about 946 times since I’ve been here. For food, for gas, for places to sleep. It’s win-lose situation, asking this. On one hand they admire that you are trying to speak their language. On the other hand, they think you can speak their language and fire off a few dozen words at you. To this you respond, ‘doy kom hee-yo’, or ‘I don’t understand’. I say that a lot.

            I’ve come to notice that what somebody once told me is true; that 99% of the people in the world are good and it’s the 1ish% that gives people as a whole a bad reputation. Everyone here is so self-less. Strangers offer for us to sleep at their house, mechanics fix our bikes for free, old men on the side of the road wave us over to try their cup of home-made tea. Gus said that he thinks its going to be hard to go back to America where everyone is so worried about themselves. I agree. It will be even more of a culture shock then when I came here and saw the opposite. I’ve yet to meet someone who is not at least mildly pleased with our presence. Especially with the motorbike; stopping in random villages and talking with Vietnamese elders who don’t know a single English word- just wide eyed and a faint smile, slowly raising up their hand to point us in the right direction.

            I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know the time. Actually I do now cause I just looked in the corner of the screen but I’ve worn my shirt 3 days in a row. My feet have a tan that looks like my sandals. I sleep an average of 5.5 hours every night and it feels good.

            I don’t know what im looking for. In the bathroom stall tonight someone wrote on the wall, “In search of something, I traveled the world only to come home and find what I was looking for.” I hope that guy found it.

            They use the metric system here, but everyone uses the same units for time. What if different cultures had different time units and clocks? Like one second in the united states equaled 2.67 seconds here. Something to ponder…

            Even the dogs and cats here have different personality traits. Each is adapting to the cultural settings. Like the people. Like me.

            We rode from Nha Trang (google it) into the mountains in search of a road we should have known we were never going to find. In the American suburbs, everyone stays inside at night after a ‘long day of work’. They keep to themselves, watch their metal boxes. In this country, everyone is out doing laundry, playing volleyball/soccer, or talking with their neighbors. It seems like all the people here have more frequent as well as higher quality interactions with one another. There’s something to be learned.

            I know ive said it many times before and will say it many times again, but the following few days took place in the middle of nowhere. And by that I mean we were at least 30 kilometers from a paved road.

            We rode in search of a town called Chu Se as the sun left no visibility and gus’s headlight quickly followed. At a gas station the employees were watching a program teaching the English language. I borrowed a pen and wrote something down as they looked over my shoulder, fascinated. We both used the same pen and paper, but what was created was worlds different. Literally.

            So anyways we’re riding along and stop for a snack. Walking back to our bikes (parked in the road), five cops ride up and park about 20 feet from us. I see one walk up to a truck driver- who hands him and high valued **something**- and the cop walks away. They see us, sit there, and wait. The man in the store looked at the cops, looked at us, looked at the cops, looked at us. Smiling creepily, he hinted that we were about to have an encounter. We walked back casually to our bikes and loaded them up. One cop came up and asked ‘where from?’ I pretended I didn’t understand. A few of them walked up, looking at our cargo. I told gus in English (cause they obviously couldn’t understand us), ‘get out the map so we can make them think that were lost and trying to find directions.’ Which we did, and the cop pointed, and we broke eye contact and rode away.

            We got to this hotel late at night and the woman was trying to charge us far more than the room was worth. I got a little hot headed so she motioned for us to leave. We rode around town before finding nothing and decided to return. Upon which she raised the price about 50%. “Fuck that.” And we rode off. Again, in the middle of nowhere. We come to a swanky red light and hear, “hey are you boys Americans?” in a Southern accent.

We look to the left and see the first white person we’ve seen in 400 kilometers. After hearing our situation he told us to follow him. His name was John and he was from north Carolina. He met his wife, Snow, on facebook and she happened to be from this village. They were both in town for her sisters wedding. LLOONNGG story short they invited us to stay at her family’s house with her brother who was our age and was in the police force. They were a well known and well respected family; the father a teacher, the brother a doctor, the uncle was the chief of police, the mother did some government work. That night and the next morning, the brother, Davitt, showed us around town. Coffee, beer, chow, pho, the fishing pond, the market, the toy store, flower shop, friends houses, kareokee, everything. Everywhere we went people starred at us. They didn’t look, they starred.  People even stopped their bikes in the middle of the street to watch us walk down the sidewalk. I felt like a celebrity and here we were being paraded around everywhere. Im willing to bet limbs we were the first white people to do most of the things there.

            We were invited to go to the sisters wedding and couldn’t say no. I dressed in my best clothes- a polo and a borrowed pair of shorts. At first I thought it would be a small gathering, maybe at a church with 30 people or so. We ride into the country side and see a ginormous tent in the distance. They walked us in and up to the front where the bride was so we could give her the gifts we bought. They made us get on stage and take a picture with her. Let me describe this scene: 3 white people in the tent, two of them on a stage, 300 pairs of eyes on us. We say- “what the hell are we doing here.” They say- “what the hell are they doing here.” Insanity at its finest.

            Thus began Vietnamese wedding festivities. By that I mean that we both had a glass and they simply would not feel satisfied if there wasn’t beer schlopping over the brim. Sorry to who’s reading this but They. Got. Us. Drunkk. Everybody was trying to come up and say hello, shake our hand, take our picture, touch our bodies. The women asked us to dance and the men asked us to cheers their glasses. I cant stress this enough, but we weren’t supposed to be here. I went to pee and found myself on the outskirts of the tent with 5 Vietnamese men sitting on the ground. Each one of them took terns drunkenly slurring words in my face. All I could do was my signal for I don’t understand; point at me, make an x with me arms, point at my head.

            Everyone has such a genuine interest. I cant understand it.

            We went back to their home after being convinced to stay one more night. We were told by the brother (who spoke decent English by the way) that the family had prepared a feast for us. Which they probably shouldn’t have because again I couldn’t eat anything. I was too busy being force fed beer. Every time the mother cheers’d us we had to chug what was left in our glass. “We cant be rude and say no,” so I drank about 4 beers in 25 minutes.

            I never knew tables and chairs were so unnecessary. We had a feast while cross legged. The mother pulled out a dish and handed us two beautifully crafted bracelets that we were told were made with gold. “This is to show that you are my family. We are family and you are my bother. Do not forget us.” Davitt said. His last line was unnecessary as well.

            I still have it on. I hope to always wear it. To me it symbolizes the kindness of the human spirit. Even that 1ish% that I was talking about earlier—they have it too.

            And I think. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for red lights. Something that forces people to stop and look around instead of ahead.

            Last bit. I try not to discuss my eating habits but its almost impossible not to here. Im a vegetarian (‘ahn jai’) and have been for about 7 years. The night of the feast I (un)(knowingly) broke my streak. The dish they made had some item in it. I thought it was an egg so I asked and Davitt said, “yes egg”. It felt like an egg, but didn’t taste like an egg or look like one cause the white and yellow part had black strings through them. So again I asked, ‘egg?’ And he said, “yes…egg” while pointing at his eye, which is what he probably thought I was saying. I ate a cow’s eyeball. Ask for that the next time your’e at the drive-thru.

           

liulkjdg

2 gallon bottles of vodkah everywhere

many people caught their dinner in this pond

the carnival we stumbled upon

an hour after the rain

pagonda

brief train ride and nap session

mui ne

fish you choose right from the tank to your plate. $3

Tang and his wife Lee, they let us stay in their store for the evening

self portrait through the waterfall

view from our room in dalat

clothing market. there were dozens of these set ups

and it goes on

People always say that the book is better than the movie. These past two weeks my life has been a library, and this will be a 2 minute promotional video to sum everything up into something easily digestible.

My perspective of the motorbike madness in Saigon has changed. Where once we thought it was every man for himself, honking to get ahead of the person in front, we now know traffic is cooperative. A honk does not mean, ‘get out of my way’, but rather ‘look out im in your blind spot’.

We went back to get the second motorbike a few nights later. It was dark out and we got lost on the way to see the britt. Which was perfect timing for the bike to break down…in a torrential downpour of rain…with both our phones dead. In the middle of nowhere with about $300 in my pocket, we pushed the bike a good mile or so to an underpass. We got it going, finally, and trudged on. As a man would later put it to me, learning to ride a four speed-manual motorbike in the streets of Saigon was “baptism by fire”. You should see the blisters on my hands.

In the past 3 weeks ive almost been in an accident about 6 or 7 times. Ill get to those later.

We met back up with Booya and he took us on a tour of Saigon. You would have thought this guy was a celebrity the way he knew EVERYBODY. He let us stay at his place which was an apartment complex- exactly the kind you would expect to see in a communist country. Me and gus went to the gym and the attendant there tried to talk with us in broken English. We told him we were Olympic swimmers training for the next Olympics and that we knew Michael phelps very well. This declaration was accompanied with a hug and an invitation to a party. I didn’t feel bad for lying. To him it was probably the most exciting thing hed heard all week- why spoil it telling him we’re 20 year old Americans doing nothing of the sort.

I don’t drink soda back home, but here there is nothing better to remind you of home than the taste of coke. I cant explain it, its like synesthasia or something. So damn good.

We spent far more time in Saigon than we would have liked. Gus’s bike kept breaking down so we kept exchanging them. Third time was a charm. Ish. We must have serviced them in total about 22 times since the purchase.

Speaking of bikes. You know how people always say something to the effect of, “live your life to the fullest because today you could walk across the street and get hit by a bus.” Well I think im living my life pretty full and I got hit by a fucking bus. It was on a round about, I heard a crunch while getting thrown forward, looked back and saw a 14 foot tall bus on my tail. The bastard wouldn’t stop, just blared his horn. I gained composure and sped off.

Down the way I saw these tiny cages with thousands of birds stuffed into them, they couldn’t even open their wings. I walked over to buy them and set them free…which was the point. Messed up. I could only afford to set loose about a hundred of them, so I bought a cage and let them go--each one sprinting in a different direction. It was a symbolic act. If everyone would just give a little bit, as much as they could, then good would only grow exponentially.

I get on facebook about once every 5 days for about 5 minutes. It feels great. You should try it. Not that I didn’t want to at first, but facebook is illegal here. 

Earlier I called doug a dick. I thought he was for paying his workers 15 cents an hour, 12 hours a day, 6 days a week. Those are by no means livable wages here, but they are standard. Nobody here is trying to get ahead. Everyone is just trying to get by. One woman told me almost apologetically that Vietnam is very poor, to which I responded that the people here seem happier than where I come from. Which is true.

Money here is called dong. We’re always trying to think of innuendos. The best ones so far: I blew about 400,000 dongs today, another day another dong, I cant wait to get my hands on some dong.

We left Saigon, putting our bikes on a train to go to Mui Ne. “Well that was orientation. This is the real thing.” Gus said. 

Haggling is more of a sport than a means to save money. Is a 5 minute debate really worth the 50 cents? No. But its kind of fun to see what you can get away with. It’s a skill, it really is. Me and gus both have our own tactics.

Its fun to be in public talking about really lude things in front of children and parents when they have no idea what you’re saying. But at the same time, neither do we with them.

A saw an American man pointing a camera at some woman selling fruit on the street. He was shoutting directions at her in a language she didn’t understand, “don’t look at the camera, just keep doing what you’re doing!” Which pissed me off- people are not amusement park rides. Here, you adapt to THEM.

We stayed at a hotel where the owners son sat next to me, watching me while I was on the computer. Rather than try and talk without success, I decided to just sit there in silence and enjoy his company. There’s a lot of that here; words are not always necessary.

I hope animals are not as sentient as I think they are cause I’ve seen some really fucked up things happen to creatures since ive been here and theres nothing I can do about it.

From Mui Ne we rode to Dalat. Rather, we were supposed to ride to dalat but got lost about a dozen times and ended up in this small mountain top village where a store owner offered for us to stay the rainy night in his house with him and his wife. They made us food and tea. I knew the place around us was beautiful even though I couldn’t see 20 feet into the distance. So there we sat on his concrete floor, the three of us exchanging little gifts and devouring a Vietnamese phrase book. That little book was the best $5 ive ever spent.

Being lost is an awful, scary, yet exciting feeling. To look around and see nothing known, with no sense of direction, no sense of home, no sense of urgency, no potential for instant familiarity, but at the same time unlimited potential to connect with the unfamiliar.

Funny thing. I was furious at my travel partner over a difference in directional opinion. I saw him at a gas station and drove up, throwing my helmet 30 yards and getting in a yelling match. When the dust settled I looked around to see about 14 Vietnamese men just staring at us, not moving an inch, mouths open. They probably average seeing one white person a week and here we were causing a scene.

I’ve been really trying to learn the language. Its made me realize how monotone we Americans are. I think I pronounce the words right but then I get corrected about 8 times before moving on to the next tonal failure. There are about 5 different ways to pronounce each letter of the alphabet. I wish my short term memory was not so poor because I can never remember what they tell me. It all sounds the same.

Never take dry feet for granted. It’s a rarity and a luxury now a days.

Here’s a scene from one of my rides. Shirt off, sun out mid morning, riding along the coast. Feeling the ocean breeze, learning back against my bag on my bike, hearing the waves crash louder than my engine, smelling the salt water.

We got to Delat and got a cheap bottle of liquor. Walking around town we invented a game. It was like baeball, but each person we convinced to take a shot was a hit and a base, and each person that said no was a strike. We passed the bottle back and fourth a few time s before finding out that the artists were the ones who always got us a base. Typical.

My frequent purchases are seafood fried rice, bottled water, mechanic visits, calling cards, pastries of some sort or another, hotel rooms, and gas.

There was a 3 on 1 fight over a motorbike wreck that we witnessed. I decided against getting involved despite wanting badly to help the man. This is not our country, it’s not our place, we must leave it unchanged and untouched. There was a crowd of 100 Vietnamese watching the whole thing- I saw a dad hold his kid on his shoulders to watch it. Ha.

I miss my home. I miss my friends. I miss you Kelsey. I miss my family.

Many Vietnamese answer the phone saying ‘hello’ even thought they don’t speak any English. We exercised on the cliff of a waterfall, literally. Food is now the gas for my body, not something meant to enjoy. When it rains here it POURS.

How I know this is a communist country: the same exact products are sold everywhere, there are very few beggars- everyone has a job no matter how small, the phone system is a joke, I have yet to see a school child not wearing a uniform, and the people are more satisfied with less.

Its hard to comprehend that im here. That im in a foreign country. It dosn’t seem so foreign. It’s the same thing as home; the land, dirt roads, clouds, rain, smiles, conversations, monetary exchanges, the need to get some where, a hand shake, the ‘I don’t know’ shrug, its all the same. It’s the same everywhere. Only the shapes and colors that we sew onto a cloth rectangle are different. Such a shame that we rarely recognize the universal nature of the human experience.

I try to get on a working computer as often as possible which is about once a week. That was 4 days worth. Love and later.

pics part one

The alley-way where we spent our first night

first beer in saigon, appropriately named

the park across the street from our place

commies

the deck outside one of our rooms

exercize equiptment put in random parts of the city

right off the main road where there was a kfc down the street

the war museum wall

this had three floors and waitors

the man we met on the side of the street; sake and crab included

the art of crossing the street

commies

saigon

crazy fruits, they gave them to us for free after seeing our amazement

snakes and alcohol

doug, gus's boyfriend for the day

take your pick