“Good morning, Vietnam!”
As we go up the river…it looks like Vietnam… muddy trenches weave through saggy palms. The water is brown and the land is green, very green. At this point, my movie morphed imagination taints reality. A scene from Across the Universe flashes before me. It is as if I can actually see and hear the underwear clad soldiers carrying the Statue of Liberty. They are coming towards the bank, the ship, my window. I am reminded that my freedom is an envied commodity in this land. Cargo ships closely pass by. Fishermen dot the banks. Thatched roofs poke up from the lush green blanket. As the ship docks, a row of young, traditionally dressed Vietnamese women hold a banner that reads, “Semester at Sea, Welcome to Vietnam.” They smile and welcomingly wave, unconsciously representing the young nation, forgetting the past and focusing on the future. Visiting parents hang over the railing, camera in one hand and posters in the other. The absence of my family makes my return so much sweeter. Here we are, another country. Where has the time gone?
Traffic. 8.5 million people in Ho Chi Min City. 8 million motorbikes. The blurring swarm of helmet-heads makes the taxi lined streets of NYC look like a walk in the park.
Crossing the street in HCMC is an adrenaline rush that results in pain or accomplishment. Walk slowly and deliberately. My fist crossing was as if I were frozen in time as the rest of the world continued to swirl around me. I could hear nothing but my heavy breathing and multiplied heartbeat. I could see nothing but my point of destination. I was in a tunnel of time. It was like that scene in West Side Story where Tony and Maria see each other for the first time at the dance. They move in slow motion, while the dance carries on. Don’t run across the street. You are more likely to be hit. The bikes will move around you. No time is a good time. One way streets go both ways. Red lights are optional, and sidewalks are not only for pedestrians. Strategy, determination, training, patience, and agility…Vietnam street crossing should be a sport. You win or you lose.
As much as I would like to think the conical, rice-leaf hats are a means of identifying tourists, I must admit I have been proven wrong. Locals wear these hats outside of the rice fields. Ladies as old as Ms. Gobel and as nimble as Mrs. Seely shuffle down the streets, their faces hidden by a mini-thatched hat and their shoulders heavy with balancing baskets of produce. They are too numb to feel the weight that they carry.
There are no puddles of piss, just an occasional arrangement of ancestral offering and burnt incense. The white skin of expats and travelers, turns the attention off of us... a rare relief. I like it here. I often wonder about the stories of the foreigners I pass. Oh, how I want the excitement, challenge, independence, and humility of living in a foreign land. Visiting is bittersweet. It is a sampler plate: either you are thankful you did not get a full order, or you soak it all up and wish there was more…more time, more resources, more discovery, and more funding. Next time, I will know what to order, where exactly to go.
