Vietnam

Vietnam:
Today Jade and I woke up and walked to a breakfast café along the river and ate crepes (mine with a scoop of ice cream) and melted in the beautiful sunshine. It has been a few days since I have seen the sun-it has mostly been overcast skies and rain.



A little later, we packed up and got ready for our 2.5 hour boat trip to Vietnam. Carrying my bags is beginning to be a bit of a burden to say the least. I worry that if a gust of wind comes my way, I’ll be knocked over. I certainly was NOT appreciative of the sun while I was hauling all of my belongings to the boat. I was dripping in sweat. Luckily, our boat was a small speed boat that fit our group of 12 and 4 other travelers. I spent the boat ride reading my newest novel, “The Kite Runner,” and looking out the window at the peaceful river and green shores of Cambodia.

Stepping off of the boat and onto the Cambodian immigration site was like stepping onto a slice of paradise! The palm trees rustled in the breeze, as we walked single file on an old, dilapidated dock, hopped down onto a dirt mound and stood for a short moment while our passports were checked and stamped. Then, we took a short 3 minute boat ride in no-man’s-land to get to Vietnam’s border.

At the Vietnam border, everything was going smoothly and I decided to sit on the boat-despite the fact that I was dripping in sweat and continue reading. Before I knew it, I realized that I had read 50 pages, and we were nowhere near getting our passports back. What was the hold up? Apparently, an older American couple who was traveling on our boat (not part of our group) was having trouble. The gentleman, a burly man with a curly mustache had no room on his passport to get it stamped and the Vietnamese border patrol was refusing to let him into the country. Stupidly, the man ripped off his visa to China and told them to stamp his passport in the newly empty space. This just pissed off the men in charge and they wouldn’t budge to allow him or his wife into the country. We had to send one of our diplomats to urge the man to let it go and let us take them back to Cambodia so that they could contact the US Embassy there. After a little coaxing, he came to his senses and apologetically came back to the boat after almost 3 hours! The whole situation kind of made me embarrassed because everyone was just in awe of how stupid this man had been and thought he was insane for thinking that by throwing a fit, he could get his way. I wondered if people thought that he was being “a typical American,” or if I was just being strangely paranoid. Either way, I feel like when you travel to another country, even though you are an individual, you are consequently representing your country. To act like a fool only reflects poorly on the place that you call home.

After dropping off our bags (and after a full day of traveling by boat, sitting in the heat and sweating) we jumped on some motorcycles to head up to a mountain to watch the sunset. It felt refreshing as the wind beat against my face and thrilling as we turned each corner, or dodged another oncoming motorcycle. The sunset did not disappoint either. Con (our tour guide) lead us to this hidden enclave that looked out onto the flooded valley and we watched the sun slip behind the horizon. Talk about peace and serenity!

We are now finally nestled in our next hotel in the middle of a small fishing village. It is quite nice. The decorations are nice and we have a balcony. Tomorrow, we wake up early and spend another full day traveling, this time by bus, to Ho Chi Minh city. I’m in desperate need of a break, of internet, and of a shower.

Ho Chi Minh City: Formally known as Saigon, (and still referred to as Saigon by many) this city is filled with more motorbikes than I’ve ever seen, and overwhelming-overwhelming to cross the street, overwhelming to be unable to trust people, overwhelming in noise, pollution and context. Our first day, one girl almost got her bag snatched by some motorbikers (luckily, she was able to grab it back just in the nick of time) and another man got a lot of money stolen out of his wallet when he tried to pay his cylco. Needless to say, it is not my most favorite city that I’ve visited. It is hard to be in a city where you have to be constantly aware of everything going on around you.

Today was our tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels, and the War Remnants Museum. The Cu Chi Tunnels are a unique architectural structure and a system of tunnels deeply underground with several floors, a labyrinth of intricate winding, and rooms for meeting, sleeping, cooking and preparing for battle. We were given the opportunity to crawl into them, though I was only able to make it about 2 minutes before I had to turn around. It was suffocating, my heart started to race and I suffered from a slight panic attack when I realized how narrow and dark they were. It is incredible that people had to live in these tunnels for years and years during the Vietnam War.

The War Remnants Museum was opened to the public in 1975 and exhibits photographs, tanks, guns and propaganda used during the Vietnam War. It is a means to display the war crimes and the aftermath of the war on the Vietnamese people. One of the most disturbing exhibitions displayed pictures of handicapped children and Agent Orange victims in Ky Chau village, in Ha Tinh Province. Because of their exposure to the chemicals that were dropped during the war, many children were left with shriveled limbs, deformed hands, feet and faces and adults suffered from severe skin lacerations and irritations.

When I was walking through the museum, I couldn’t help but feel guilty and angry at America. In the various genocide and war studies that I have done in the past few years, there has been a broad scale of emotions that I have experienced. It is difficult to explain how it felt to walk through this museum and be a US citizen and know that the war was initiated by my country. When I would stare at photos of young soldiers, I would feel a deep sadness for what they experienced and for their families worrying and terrified at home. But, then I would look at another picture of a soldier holding an innocent Vietnamese family at gunpoint, and feel an outrage. And all of these emotions are mixed with this sort of skepticism of the extremely biased picture that was painted. What about those at home who were participating in anti-war protests and marches? What about those young men who were drafted and forced to go to war, though they had no desire and no belief in the cause of the war?

Hoi An: Delightfully beautiful and quaint, Hoi An captures some of my most favorite memories of this trip. Two highlights: tailored clothes-designed by me and renting bikes to get to the beach. The streets of Hoi An are lined with tailor shops with eager seamstresses willing to make anything that you could ever desire. You can point to a photo of a Gucci jacket in a Vogue magazine, and in a day, own it. It’s absolutely amazing! The women who made some clothes for me must be mentioned…the shop was owned by three sisters who were the size of popsicle sticks, loved Vietnamese soap operas, and could make pants in a mere hour! They each had such lively and memorable personalities.

Little did I know….Vietnam has the most beautiful beaches that I’ve ever seen in my life. White sand, few people, cool breeze, warm ocean water. I hate swimming in the ocean, but it was just too irresistible, and complete heaven.

This portion of the trip is filled with all of my favorite things: good food, good company (a total of 4 surviving ladies!), amazing shopping, and sunshine! What a perfect way to end this adventure.

Halong Bay: Can only be described in pictures…

Cambodia

As a result of the lack of wireless internet on this part of the trip and the inability to blog weekly, I am going to copy and paste an on-going record of the events that have taken place over the past few weeks….

Cambodia:
My impressions of Cambodia are similar-though not wholly comparable to my impression of Uganda; both slowly progressing in the hands of the corrupt, yet with their fair share of things to be proud of. Unlike Uganda, Cambodia’s scenery is spectacular. The fields of shallow waters laced with reeds, tropical greenery, dirt and potholed roads all paint the stunning portrait that one may imagine. The monsoon rain beats upon my hotel window and the wind rattles the building. I sit, alone in my room, a sort of bubble sanctuary from Mother Nature. If I stand and look out of the window, I see the backyards of locals, dirty and poor and see the homes of the vocal rooster and dogs, so insistent that I stay awake. On the other side of my room is the veranda looking out onto the hotel swimming pool. Among the noises of monsoon, I can hear privileged children splashing and laughing, unaware of their surroundings and happy to play.

The past two days have been filled with Angkor Temples and obnoxious dinners shared with foreign travel companions. The tour has proven to be unlike anything that I had expected, actually it has proven to be more like a bad nightmare. A vacation it is not. For the majority, I feel like I am stuck with embarrassing relatives-all difficult to relate to. I’m staying sane through the help of my neutral, laid-back, British roommate Jade. She is a vault that I am able to confide my frustrations in, though I’m holding back many emotions as to prevent myself from seeming snobbish. I’m not a snob though. They are politically incorrect; make cultural/racial slurs and one man, last night, even personally attacked me! The attack, completely side-swept me and caught me off guard. (It referred to my education and he seemed to think that I have no focus in life.) Today, I resisted visiting a fishing village in order to escape and recuperate.



Later…
The last day that we were in Siem Reap, I shopped a bit in town and had a yummy lunch with even better ice cream. Siem Reap was a quiet and quaint little town, which alternates bar, boutique, restaurant and market, down each of the streets. I felt completely at ease getting around and I am also pleased to take the “tuk tuk” rides, because unlike Indian rickshaws, they are plush, wide and much less hectic.

We are now in Phnom Phen, the capital of Cambodia. We flew in yesterday (one of the quickest and most efficient flights I’ve ever been on) and it felt like we were in a whole different world from quiet Siem Reap. Driving via bus from the airport to our riverside hotel, we passed various factories and big buildings. My first impressions were rather negative, but after today, I am feeling much differently. Despite our smelly, crusty hotel, the area that we are staying is quite charming. My room looks right out onto the river-a beautiful view- and down the street are restaurants and bars. At night there is a lively feel and many people can be spotted through clouds of cigarette smoke, sipping cocktails in large lounge chairs.

Cambodians have style. All of the restaurants and boutiques look incredibly trendy and uniquely inviting. Sometimes, I get lost in the Asian textiles and décor while walking along the streets. While I enjoyed Indian shops better, the Cambodians can boast to the swankiest night scenes.

We have dined at two humanitarian restaurants that are affiliated with the NGO called “Friends,” which supports, educates and cares for street kids of Phnom Phen. Both restaurants had former street kids working and training as waiters/waitresses and chefs. The food was fantastic, as was the cause. I am appreciative to be able to see and support this side of Cambodia, even though I am a mere tourist.

This morning we went to the Genocide Memorial Museum (Tuol Sleng Prison) and the Killing Fields. The prison is located in a sub-district of Phnom Penh and covers an area of 600x400 meters. During the Khmer Rouge regime it was enclosed by two folds of corrugated iron sheets, all covered with dense, electrified barbed wire to prevent anyone from escaping the prison. Houses and the four former school buildings were used as administration, interrogation and torture offices. Within the complex, there were several male and female children (from 10-15 years old) who were trained and selected by the Khmer Rouge to work as guards. Most of them started out normal, but were brainwashed and grew to be increasingly cruel and disrespectful towards the prisoners. The prisoners were kept in tiny cells and chained to the concrete walls. The prison had strict regulations which read as follows:

1. You must answer accordingly to my questions. Do not turn them away.
2. Do not try to hide the facts by making pretexts of this and that. You are strictly prohibited to contest me.
3. Do not be a fool for you are a chap who dares to thwart the revolution.
4. You must immediately answer my questions without wasting time to reflect.
5. Do not tell me either about your immoralities or the revolution.
6. While getting lashes or electrification you must not cry at all.
7. Do nothing. Sit still and wait for my orders. If there is no order, keep quiet. When I ask you to do something, you must do it right away.
8. Do not make pretexts about Kampuchea Krom in order to hide your jaw of traitor.
9. If you do not follow all the above rules, you shall get many lashes of electric wire.
10. If you disobey at any point of my regulations you shall get either 10 lashes or 5 shocks.

There was never anyone released from this prison. Those who were not killed in the prison were bused to the Killing Fields and were either hung or shot. Currently, the Killing Fields are used as a memorial site where a building has been constructed to display all of the skulls and bones of the victims. Still to this day, during the rainy season, bones can be found washed up on the dirt paths.

I was faced with a familiar rush of emotions while wandering through the old prisons and looking at photographs, paintings, skulls and bones. It was so similar to the memorial sites that I visited in Rwanda-I felt angry, repulsed, and depressingly sad. Genocide is a concept that completely boggles my mind. It is one thing to kill an enemy, but to brutally torture a relative or friend is something that I will never comprehend. They explain that the people acting in the genocide were young, impressionable and brainwashed; but how does one brainwash a child to act so brutally? I have yet to wrap my finger around the experience to the fullest-I know these emotions are ones that I will revisit in my mind over and over again, and probably not understand my true feelings until much later.