Southeast Asia, Part 2
Traveling is only half a physical journey. It's been known for it's powers of personal development ever since man first learned to walk. It's hard to even bring the subject up without it turning in to an essay on its own. One small part of that process can come from immersing yourself in the physical environment of parts of history and seeing it for yourself, while another is dispelling of any pre-concieved and possibly distorted or just plain false notions you may have of an variety of things.
Vietnam. Part of me thought it might be the progressive thing to do to try to experience the country on it's own merit. War? What war? But it became clear to me that the elephant in the room would not be possible to ignore. I would come to find that it was intrinsic to their identity as well, the "American War," as it's referred to, as much as it was for me as well, growing up in America, raised by the generation that fought both there and, in many ways, at home too.
Emotions were mixed on the ship- there were a lot of Vietnam veterans on board, and a get together was hosted for those that wanted to have a talk about what it was like to be returning. From what I understand, it went a little rough. Not bad, but rough. One man with pretty intense scarring shared a story of being in the wrong place when napalm was dropped and experiencing parts of himself melting off. Another proclaimed he was not getting off the ship and threw down the microphone. I talked to a couple vets myself over the days book-ending it and asked them what it was like to come back. In contrast to how some of the others clearly felt, he was indifferent, like it bared no more significance to him personally than our visits to anywhere else.
I was up before everyone else that morning (as I usually am with the odd hours I keep). I walked on open decks as we sailed up river. There were groupings of little fishing boats tied up together we kept passing, most people on asleep, though the occasional one would be up and be waving hello. The water was perfectly still. The jungle was lush and thick, and the air was fresh. The temperature was perfect, and there was an ever-so-slight breeze. It was peaceful.
So I wanted to check out a couple war-related sights. Greeting people getting off the gangway was a group of young Vietnamese girls whose significance I just plain don't know. Sorry girls. Nice dresses, though.
I didn't end up not having as much time as I wanted, and a big part of it was the traffic.
The traffic here is the most utterly insane I've ever seen in my life. I don't think I saw a single traffic light. The way an intersection changes which street "has the green light" is the collection of vehicles keeps pushing and pushing itself out in to the intersection until it finally has control, and then it's a mad race to get as much traffic through before the act is repeated. Most of the vehicles on the road are mopeds. When all the huge, noisey, dirty, ancient trucks squeeze a road to a stop, the thousands of mopeds move up on to the sidewalks and the pedestrians have to get out of the way, quick.
It became clear in the two mile, 1-hour-and-20-minute shuttle bus ride that I would have to seriously trim down my day to get back to the ship in time.
We ride through the outskirts between the port and downtown, getting a glimpse of something I always try to get I find really important- a place in town of no significance. I think this is more important to me sometimes than any tourist attraction. It's like what the city is really like when no one is looking. What I see is lots of old, delapitated buildings, augmented around thier parimeter with sheets of corugated steel sticking out from the walls, making makshift store fronts for everything from clothes to scooter repair.
The scooter repair places I thought were interesting, because out of lack of space, they're repairing everything right on e sidewalk in everyone's way.We finally arrive at Saigon Center, a pretty rotary (round-about, as they're otherwise known) in the center of town with a large fountain in the middle, across from the infamous Rex Hotel.
It's not an official fact that the Rex was home base of CIA Operations for the war, but the general consensus of the vets on the ship is that you would be an utter idiot to assert otherwise. It has a rooftop bar with a great view that was popular with GI's back in the day. I used their internet, and they had a training for housekeepers going on in Vietnamese in the room. They were acting out different scenarios on stage, and one guy was supposed to be a sick guest in bed. He kept hamming up it, going "aaaaaaah, aaaaaaaah, ooooooooooh," putting both myself and the crowd in hysterics.
Next to the Rex is City Hall.
It was built in the early 1900's during then-French Vietnam. This is an interesting characteristic you see occasionally around this city, the colonial architecture remaining from back then. It's painted in some of the usual colonial/Victorian-type pastels, with the backdrop of dirt, dingy Saigon all around it. The statue in front is Ho Chi Minh, with a plaque that referring to him as "The Great Teacher." I was decidedly objective today, interested in what difference of perspective I might find here on the war, but it would become more and more obvious that most of what would be offered would contain unintelligent, sensationalist propaganda rhetoric. Disappointing.
I went over to the former Presidental Palace to take a tour. It was 11:15 when I got there, and they close it from 11 to 1 for lunch. So I had heard about a War Remnants Museum, which was supposed to be warehouses full of stuff left over from the war, showing graphic details of tortures and other fucked up behavior on the part of American soldiers, again narrated in a Big Brother-esque way condemning the enemies of glorious Vietnam. Unfortunately, no rhetoric was available there either until 12:30. So I backtracked to the square in front of the Palace and started killing time.
I had a really great meal at a French cafe for a few dollars. One thing I found amusing was the exchange rate: 1 USD = 15,836 Vietnamese Dong. Most everything is priced here with an assumption of increments of 1,000, so something priced 15,000 is written 15. I walked around the square, where everyone seemed to be chilling out on thier lunch break. It seemed like there was a stark contrast between rich and poor here, where you'll have some of the rotting-teeth locals eating soup from a sidewalk vendor while sitting on a piece of cardboard with other expensive-looking locals wearing Prada socializing in a fenced-off cafe right behind them.
Finally the Palace reopened.
They had a replica of the tank that crashed through the gate to end the Tet Offensive and the war on the front lawn. Inside there were lots and lots of guns and rocket launchers and grenades and explosives:
All used from the Offensive. It was here I got my first glance at the rhetoric I had been told about. There were photos of American soldiers crouched down behind a wall, as soldiers usually do. The caption read "American soldiers hiding scared from the mighty People's Army of Vietnam." Then we started the tour. The first room we walk in to, the young girl giving the tour starts to give us an overview of the history leading up to the war. She said that the French didn't really leave, they just set up "a puppet government to give the illusion of independence," but luckily "the President was a weak man" so they were able to "get rid of all the weak men" and then I lost interest around then. Instead of opting for the full hour of insults to intelligence, I wondered off and explored the rest of the Palace on my own. It turned out to be, well, incredibly boring. In fact, the most boring point of the whole trip. So I'll spare you.
It was raining by the time I went back outside. They're famous for how serious their rain is, and I was about to learn why. This "afternoon shower" had drops the size of my thumb. When I first looked outside I thought it was hailing. I ran for a cab and got one in a matter of less than a minute, which was more than enough time to drench me to the shoes at maximum saturation.
I went to a local market with the little time I had left. It was jam-packed with people and the air was filled with a hundred different odors, many less than pleasant. This part of the world is excellent if you want to buy really convincing fakes of name-brand items like Rolex watches and Louis Vitton bags.
As I left, I took one last pic.
Taking pictures was difficult. It was a really interesting place to look at in general, but hard to find any particular "thing" that captured it in a frame.
Back on the ship, I bumped in to a veteran I had befriended earlier in the cruise and asked him how his day was. He hadn't been back since he was a young man leaving Saigon in the final days of the war. He said he didn't need closure, that he finished getting over it in the mid-80's, but after our visit (speaking forward now) he did feel a sense of relief to walk around and see the city going about it's normal day-to-day chaos, almost as if nothing ever happened.
Next on the itinerary was A Holiday in Cambodia.
Cambodia is a sorted place, a place you hear a lot about. Median income equals $246 USD a year. *Still* recovering from the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot and The Killing Fields- healthcare, education, infrastructure, hell everything. HIV, water-bourne illness, the list goes on... It's one of the staple places people feel changed after going to, gain a sense of humanitarian responsibility. That said (and possibly sounding a little bastardly), I also think a certain percentage of people have a romanticized or egocentric motive with the whole "I'm a humanitarian and we need to help" thing. I take it with a grain of salt, and don't want it to affect forming my own opinions. Besides, I'm only here for the day. A more in depth depiction of Cambodia would probably be found on anomalon's journal.
On the positive, It's a beautiful country much like Vietnam, with some of the most unspoiled beaches in the world and amazing places such as Angkor Wat.
I took a bus in to town. The motorized rickshaw drivers were climbing all over each other and shouting as we got off the bus trying to fight for a fare. I used the internet briefly, and bought a Coke for about 15 cents US, which makes me wonder how badly I'm getting ripped off in the States when I pay $1.50.
Walking around town, one thing that really strikes me a sidewalk market I walk by. Sure you see a lot of farmer market type outdoor food sales everywhere. Usually there is more of an indoor market presence too. I was getting the feeling it was the main food market for the area, set up there on the muddy sidewalk. I zeroed in on one ladies booth selling meat out here in the heat, big chunks of raw meat hanging from hooks and other in piles on top of a sheet of wood she was using as a counter. She was digging around in the pile straightening everything out. Not the most unusual sight in this part of the world, but for some reason I kept thinking about it.
I was tired from the heat, and a little worn out by the chaos of this town. There really seems to be a lack of infrastructure you can feel here. I'm making my way back to the bus when I bump in to a photographer friend of mine. She had just come back from a temple and showed me all sorts of excellent picks. I sighed, because I knew what I had to do, despite my low energy level and growing scent. I had to make the most of my only day here and go check it out. I pay a guy $10 to drive me out there, wait around, and then drive me to the ship. I'm glad I did.
We make our way to Wat Otres, which is close enough to the ship that I can juggle it with the time available. A long dirt road brings us past an orphanage, and then to the temple.
One thing that strike me immediately upon exiting the car is the totally different vibe here. It had an overwhelmingly peaceful, calm feeling to the place. It was extremely pleasant.
There are many different shrines outdoors, all painted in blinding gold leaf.
The whole place was a technicolor delight, between the gold leaf and the bright orange of of the monks' robes, juxtaposed against the dark greys and greens of the old stone structures and vegetation around. I took off my shoes and went inside.
The interior was one room, with a large golden Buddha shrine in the center. All the walls and the ceiling were painted in beautifully colored religious art.
I loved it here. It was so calm and peaceful that I wanted to stay. Wouldn't be the first time the thought of becoming a monk had crossed my mind.
I had a conversation with one of the monks for a few minutes, and then a conversation with a nice and very dirty German man about the Love Parade, of all things. The contrast between this place and the feeling in town left me with questions in my mind.
Alas, it was time to go.
My guy took me back to the ship, and the ship took me to Bangkok, where I only had time to get on the plane and go back to Boston.
Travel. Personal development. Changing perspectives. Awakening new things.
Several days later I'm home walking through the supermarket, and I found myself still thinking about Cambodia. Something about it wasn't processing. Something was lingering with me and I couldn't articulate what I was feeling. Just then, I had walked up to the butcher's/ deli counter. Gleaming with lights from every direction, under smooth, rounded glass were perfect cuts of meat on ice, arranged in a beautiful display in a climate controlled environment, being tended to by men with uniforms and plastic gloves.
I thought of the woman with the meats on the sidewalk a few days before.
I stood there. I stared.
Vietnam. Part of me thought it might be the progressive thing to do to try to experience the country on it's own merit. War? What war? But it became clear to me that the elephant in the room would not be possible to ignore. I would come to find that it was intrinsic to their identity as well, the "American War," as it's referred to, as much as it was for me as well, growing up in America, raised by the generation that fought both there and, in many ways, at home too.
Emotions were mixed on the ship- there were a lot of Vietnam veterans on board, and a get together was hosted for those that wanted to have a talk about what it was like to be returning. From what I understand, it went a little rough. Not bad, but rough. One man with pretty intense scarring shared a story of being in the wrong place when napalm was dropped and experiencing parts of himself melting off. Another proclaimed he was not getting off the ship and threw down the microphone. I talked to a couple vets myself over the days book-ending it and asked them what it was like to come back. In contrast to how some of the others clearly felt, he was indifferent, like it bared no more significance to him personally than our visits to anywhere else.
I was up before everyone else that morning (as I usually am with the odd hours I keep). I walked on open decks as we sailed up river. There were groupings of little fishing boats tied up together we kept passing, most people on asleep, though the occasional one would be up and be waving hello. The water was perfectly still. The jungle was lush and thick, and the air was fresh. The temperature was perfect, and there was an ever-so-slight breeze. It was peaceful.
So I wanted to check out a couple war-related sights. Greeting people getting off the gangway was a group of young Vietnamese girls whose significance I just plain don't know. Sorry girls. Nice dresses, though.
I didn't end up not having as much time as I wanted, and a big part of it was the traffic.
The traffic here is the most utterly insane I've ever seen in my life. I don't think I saw a single traffic light. The way an intersection changes which street "has the green light" is the collection of vehicles keeps pushing and pushing itself out in to the intersection until it finally has control, and then it's a mad race to get as much traffic through before the act is repeated. Most of the vehicles on the road are mopeds. When all the huge, noisey, dirty, ancient trucks squeeze a road to a stop, the thousands of mopeds move up on to the sidewalks and the pedestrians have to get out of the way, quick.
It became clear in the two mile, 1-hour-and-20-minute shuttle bus ride that I would have to seriously trim down my day to get back to the ship in time.
We ride through the outskirts between the port and downtown, getting a glimpse of something I always try to get I find really important- a place in town of no significance. I think this is more important to me sometimes than any tourist attraction. It's like what the city is really like when no one is looking. What I see is lots of old, delapitated buildings, augmented around thier parimeter with sheets of corugated steel sticking out from the walls, making makshift store fronts for everything from clothes to scooter repair.
The scooter repair places I thought were interesting, because out of lack of space, they're repairing everything right on e sidewalk in everyone's way.We finally arrive at Saigon Center, a pretty rotary (round-about, as they're otherwise known) in the center of town with a large fountain in the middle, across from the infamous Rex Hotel.
It's not an official fact that the Rex was home base of CIA Operations for the war, but the general consensus of the vets on the ship is that you would be an utter idiot to assert otherwise. It has a rooftop bar with a great view that was popular with GI's back in the day. I used their internet, and they had a training for housekeepers going on in Vietnamese in the room. They were acting out different scenarios on stage, and one guy was supposed to be a sick guest in bed. He kept hamming up it, going "aaaaaaah, aaaaaaaah, ooooooooooh," putting both myself and the crowd in hysterics.
Next to the Rex is City Hall.
It was built in the early 1900's during then-French Vietnam. This is an interesting characteristic you see occasionally around this city, the colonial architecture remaining from back then. It's painted in some of the usual colonial/Victorian-type pastels, with the backdrop of dirt, dingy Saigon all around it. The statue in front is Ho Chi Minh, with a plaque that referring to him as "The Great Teacher." I was decidedly objective today, interested in what difference of perspective I might find here on the war, but it would become more and more obvious that most of what would be offered would contain unintelligent, sensationalist propaganda rhetoric. Disappointing.
I went over to the former Presidental Palace to take a tour. It was 11:15 when I got there, and they close it from 11 to 1 for lunch. So I had heard about a War Remnants Museum, which was supposed to be warehouses full of stuff left over from the war, showing graphic details of tortures and other fucked up behavior on the part of American soldiers, again narrated in a Big Brother-esque way condemning the enemies of glorious Vietnam. Unfortunately, no rhetoric was available there either until 12:30. So I backtracked to the square in front of the Palace and started killing time.
I had a really great meal at a French cafe for a few dollars. One thing I found amusing was the exchange rate: 1 USD = 15,836 Vietnamese Dong. Most everything is priced here with an assumption of increments of 1,000, so something priced 15,000 is written 15. I walked around the square, where everyone seemed to be chilling out on thier lunch break. It seemed like there was a stark contrast between rich and poor here, where you'll have some of the rotting-teeth locals eating soup from a sidewalk vendor while sitting on a piece of cardboard with other expensive-looking locals wearing Prada socializing in a fenced-off cafe right behind them.
Finally the Palace reopened.
They had a replica of the tank that crashed through the gate to end the Tet Offensive and the war on the front lawn. Inside there were lots and lots of guns and rocket launchers and grenades and explosives:
All used from the Offensive. It was here I got my first glance at the rhetoric I had been told about. There were photos of American soldiers crouched down behind a wall, as soldiers usually do. The caption read "American soldiers hiding scared from the mighty People's Army of Vietnam." Then we started the tour. The first room we walk in to, the young girl giving the tour starts to give us an overview of the history leading up to the war. She said that the French didn't really leave, they just set up "a puppet government to give the illusion of independence," but luckily "the President was a weak man" so they were able to "get rid of all the weak men" and then I lost interest around then. Instead of opting for the full hour of insults to intelligence, I wondered off and explored the rest of the Palace on my own. It turned out to be, well, incredibly boring. In fact, the most boring point of the whole trip. So I'll spare you.
It was raining by the time I went back outside. They're famous for how serious their rain is, and I was about to learn why. This "afternoon shower" had drops the size of my thumb. When I first looked outside I thought it was hailing. I ran for a cab and got one in a matter of less than a minute, which was more than enough time to drench me to the shoes at maximum saturation.
I went to a local market with the little time I had left. It was jam-packed with people and the air was filled with a hundred different odors, many less than pleasant. This part of the world is excellent if you want to buy really convincing fakes of name-brand items like Rolex watches and Louis Vitton bags.
As I left, I took one last pic.
Taking pictures was difficult. It was a really interesting place to look at in general, but hard to find any particular "thing" that captured it in a frame.
Back on the ship, I bumped in to a veteran I had befriended earlier in the cruise and asked him how his day was. He hadn't been back since he was a young man leaving Saigon in the final days of the war. He said he didn't need closure, that he finished getting over it in the mid-80's, but after our visit (speaking forward now) he did feel a sense of relief to walk around and see the city going about it's normal day-to-day chaos, almost as if nothing ever happened.
Next on the itinerary was A Holiday in Cambodia.
Cambodia is a sorted place, a place you hear a lot about. Median income equals $246 USD a year. *Still* recovering from the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot and The Killing Fields- healthcare, education, infrastructure, hell everything. HIV, water-bourne illness, the list goes on... It's one of the staple places people feel changed after going to, gain a sense of humanitarian responsibility. That said (and possibly sounding a little bastardly), I also think a certain percentage of people have a romanticized or egocentric motive with the whole "I'm a humanitarian and we need to help" thing. I take it with a grain of salt, and don't want it to affect forming my own opinions. Besides, I'm only here for the day. A more in depth depiction of Cambodia would probably be found on anomalon's journal.
On the positive, It's a beautiful country much like Vietnam, with some of the most unspoiled beaches in the world and amazing places such as Angkor Wat.
I took a bus in to town. The motorized rickshaw drivers were climbing all over each other and shouting as we got off the bus trying to fight for a fare. I used the internet briefly, and bought a Coke for about 15 cents US, which makes me wonder how badly I'm getting ripped off in the States when I pay $1.50.
Walking around town, one thing that really strikes me a sidewalk market I walk by. Sure you see a lot of farmer market type outdoor food sales everywhere. Usually there is more of an indoor market presence too. I was getting the feeling it was the main food market for the area, set up there on the muddy sidewalk. I zeroed in on one ladies booth selling meat out here in the heat, big chunks of raw meat hanging from hooks and other in piles on top of a sheet of wood she was using as a counter. She was digging around in the pile straightening everything out. Not the most unusual sight in this part of the world, but for some reason I kept thinking about it.
I was tired from the heat, and a little worn out by the chaos of this town. There really seems to be a lack of infrastructure you can feel here. I'm making my way back to the bus when I bump in to a photographer friend of mine. She had just come back from a temple and showed me all sorts of excellent picks. I sighed, because I knew what I had to do, despite my low energy level and growing scent. I had to make the most of my only day here and go check it out. I pay a guy $10 to drive me out there, wait around, and then drive me to the ship. I'm glad I did.
We make our way to Wat Otres, which is close enough to the ship that I can juggle it with the time available. A long dirt road brings us past an orphanage, and then to the temple.
One thing that strike me immediately upon exiting the car is the totally different vibe here. It had an overwhelmingly peaceful, calm feeling to the place. It was extremely pleasant.
There are many different shrines outdoors, all painted in blinding gold leaf.
The whole place was a technicolor delight, between the gold leaf and the bright orange of of the monks' robes, juxtaposed against the dark greys and greens of the old stone structures and vegetation around. I took off my shoes and went inside.
The interior was one room, with a large golden Buddha shrine in the center. All the walls and the ceiling were painted in beautifully colored religious art.
I loved it here. It was so calm and peaceful that I wanted to stay. Wouldn't be the first time the thought of becoming a monk had crossed my mind.
I had a conversation with one of the monks for a few minutes, and then a conversation with a nice and very dirty German man about the Love Parade, of all things. The contrast between this place and the feeling in town left me with questions in my mind.
Alas, it was time to go.
My guy took me back to the ship, and the ship took me to Bangkok, where I only had time to get on the plane and go back to Boston.
Travel. Personal development. Changing perspectives. Awakening new things.
Several days later I'm home walking through the supermarket, and I found myself still thinking about Cambodia. Something about it wasn't processing. Something was lingering with me and I couldn't articulate what I was feeling. Just then, I had walked up to the butcher's/ deli counter. Gleaming with lights from every direction, under smooth, rounded glass were perfect cuts of meat on ice, arranged in a beautiful display in a climate controlled environment, being tended to by men with uniforms and plastic gloves.
I thought of the woman with the meats on the sidewalk a few days before.
I stood there. I stared.