I woke up to the sound of a phone call. The ceiling was an odd vanilla color and the bed I was in was unusually comfortable. Mom is already awake and Grandma is just opening her eyes. I thought about all the amazing things I was going to see over the next two weeks in Vietnam. However, I was not looking forward to spending the next 20 hours on a giant metal death trap flying through the air. This was the last day i would spend in the United States.
As we entered the airport in Harrisburg, I looked around at all the different faces, all with different destinations to go to on the same day. We were there two hours ahead of schedule but of course with my family, we are always in panic. "Where's dad?! Where's my ticket?! Where's our gate?! Where's your hat?!" If we could only slow down and think of the answers instead of the questions, I believed we could be happier people. "The Bathroom. Your Back pocket. C13. And back at home." We create and thrive upon our own stress in this family.
By some miracle we managed to catch an earlier flight to Chicago. For some reason, we were given first class seats, even though I was positive we paid for coach. During the take off, I am unusually tense for some reason. I have been on several plane rides in my life and they've always been kind of fun for me. I used to love watching the adults around me hyperventilate while the plane took off when i was younger. I imagine my sudden uneasiness that day was a result of my recent obsession over the TV show, Lost. My perception of what a real plane crash would actually feel like became almost too real for me to handle.
I looked over at the man sitting next to me. He was a statue. I could not see his eyes through his sunglasses and his face never moved. I actually believe that he fell asleep while the plane was still taking off. I was fortunate enough to sit in the seat where I could watch the beads of sweat start to form on the flight attendant's face as he strapped into his chair. As the plane ascended, I watched him close his eyes and make a cross over his torso. I looked over at Grandma for a split second. She was calm and staring at the houses as they became smaller. She is a brittle but proud woman who prefers to walk with a cane because a walker makes her feel too old. The airplane shakes and rattles around us every 3 minutes and she doesn't even blink. I suddenly felt foolish, even a little embarrassed of myself, and I took a deep breath. Airplanes rarely ever crashed mid-flight. The take off and landings were the most dangerous parts. I would get through this. Closing my eyes, I decided to will myself to sleep to shorten the time I'd be on this fucking plane.
The Chicago Airport was like a thriving ant hill. People from all over the world came there to travel to even further regions of the planet. Chicago, Illinois, for whatever reason, became the central hub of North America; the main representation of us for the rest of the world to see. And what did we have to show for it? Starbucks, barely clean bathrooms, and Brookstone kiosks? Even the world famous Chicago hotdogs got old after the first bite. Regardless, I would imagine anyone from any other country would find the Chicago Airport to be just delightful. That is, until I found an Asian girl about my age walk past me wearing a surgical face mask. At first, I was curious. Did she have some kind of immunity problem? Was she worried she would catch swine flu? I smiled and shrugged it off. I was silly to be scared of what everyone around you had no problem accepting. And then I realized that almost ALL of the Asian people that I passed were wearing the same surgical face masks. Now I was beginning to get scared. I must've missed the memo that all Asians in this particular airport were under some sort of humiliating quarantine. Then, it dawned on me, they were the smartest fucking people in this place. Chicago was the airplane center of the free world. People who went through multiple flights across great distances almost always went through Chicago, first. Also, if anyone were to actually carry out some kind of biological weapon, this would be the perfect place to condemn patient zero. Why were we NOT being forced to wear face masks. Chicago Airport was a disease Petri dish. I suddenly became terrified at the amount of bacteria and sickness that crawled upon these floors. In the end I guess I was right. This place was alive and thriving, but people were not the only organisms that shared these floors.
The plane was a sight in itself. It was the first plane I'd ever been on that had two stories. Where first class could lay down in their own chairs while they watched their own choice of movie. Where an entire cabin of people would be entertained be the soothing sounds of the airplane engine and an 18 inch plasma screen TV. This was where I'd spend the next 20 hours of my miserable life.
At some point along the plane ride, My brother and I lost track of the time and even the right day. My dreams consisted of mundane encounter's with the flight attendants so I was never sure when I was truly awake. I feared something would go horribly wrong with the plane and I would be a little kid again; believing it was all a dream while laughing at all the grown ups crying to themselves. I guess in my dreams, panic and fear weren't emotions I could feel. NeverNeverland became my escape everytime I closed my eyes.
Finnally we arrived at Saigon Airport in Vietnam. After 20 minutes of customs, passports, and baggage, we headed out the doors. We were immediately taken aback by a group of literally 700 Vietnamese people standing behind red and golden ropes as we stepped out onto a red carpet. I suddenly knew how it felt to be a rock star walking out into a sea of strangers who are eagerly awaiting your arrival. However, we learned seconds later that they were all just looking for their old family members. We found what seemed to be two family members I had never met before. The first one was a man in his twenties named Jackie who would later help us translate and navigate through the streets of Saigon. Conveniently, he taught English at a University in Saigon which couldn't have been more perfect. He was a little goofy, at times, but he was a great guy. His mother was there with him when they met us at the airport. She would later accompany us at times but remained very quiet because she couldn't speak a word of English. I felt like I could finally relate.
Next we began our terrifying journey through the streets of Vietnam to our hotel. There are barely any words I could use to describe the streets of Vietnam. Only that they were absolute chaos as well as simply amazing. EVERYONE drove either a motorcycle or a scooter. Cars seemed to be a delicacy that only the wealthy could experience. Apparently, air conditioning was too. In the city of scooters, however, cars were extremely annoying and dangerous to drive. It seemed like all the taxi drivers were required to earn some kind of driving degree from the same fucked up taxi college. If there even was such a thing.
The streets themselves were like Philly, Las Vegas, Chinatown, and Times Square combined. What I saw in front of me looked nothing like the Vietnam in Forest Gump or any other Vietnam War movie. Honking at each other seemed to be the way bikes and cars communicated. It was like an entirely different language. I could sometimes hear individual conversations between cars, 3 streets down. Our taxi driver would honk his horn at drivers two feet in front of him while 8 people on scooters scraped by him going 40. The lines on the roads were only mere suggestions to those feeling exceptionally passive. I felt as though we could've been a part of some giant scooter pile up at any moment. The bikes that passed us were close enough for me touch even though I was sitting in the middle of the car. I couldn't wait to be hit by one of these psychotic fucks. Only a matter of time.
The hotel lobby was hot and humid like the rest of Vietnam. There was a cheap elegance about the place, however. I just told myself that it was all part of the experience. The TV in our room didn't work regardless of my numerous efforts. We're told not to drink the water from the faucets and I sigh to myself. I went to an outlet to plug in my IPod and, of course, the port in the wall looks like an alien language. My watch still told me that it was still noon right now in Williamsport. The clock on the wall read 11pm. I laid back in my cot, eyes unable to leave the patterns along the ceiling.
____DAY 2___ (dont worry it doesnt go like this for all 14 days lol)
My brother and I woke up to the sound of construction and my mother knocking on our door. It was 6 o'clock and already 96 degrees outside. We met up with Jackie and his mother to go out to breakfast. The city was already alive. People loitered the streets smoking cigarettes or just sleeping anywhere comfortable. Some people managed to lay down and fall asleep while somehow balancing on their motorcycles. It was almost impossible to breathe without smelling something toxic. Beggars missing limbs would come up, tug on my shirt, and hold out their hand asking for money. I felt bad but I only had the 20 dollars my mother had given to me earlier. 20 dollars here was a fucking fortune everywhere.
The market we entered was inside a very large building and was even hotter than the outside. Beautiful young women tended the shops and harassed us to buy their things as we passed by. It was then that I realized fat or ugly women in Vietnam were extremely rare. Most were just victims of poverty and were forced to run souvenir stands in unusually hot markets. As we walked down the streets, I noticed more and more people were staring at us. At stop lights, giant crowds of scooters began to form as they waited for the next green light. Many of them turned their heads as we walked by and did not look away. I could only stare back and wonder what they were looking at. Sure, I was a tourist but i liked to think that I blended in perfectly with everyone else and that people were just staring at my dad's gigantic sun hat and fanny pack. There was nothing about him that didn't scream "PICKPOCKET ME!!! IM A TOURIST!!!" except for his gigantic size.
The rest of the day was a combination of walking, eating, and shopping. Jackie was a great help to me and Jim on further understanding the depths of real Vietnamese culture. Around 2 o'clock my brother began to feel the effects of jetlag. For some reason, though, I was wide awake. How could I feel tired in a city like this? Walking across a one lane street with your eyes closed was an obvious act of suicide here. The strange and awful smells that surrounded the sidewalks eventually became bearable. If they weren't enough to keep you wide awake, the constant blaring of scooter horns and smog from the bikes became the perfect cures for my jetlag.
For dinner, we met up with my mom's cousin, Guillome. He was French Vietnamese, and very friendly. they took us to a fancy restaurant that apparently used to be an opium factory. The wine was too dry and the food was bitter, but the atmosphere and the people around us made it quite the experience. It was only until the end of the dinner (and three glasses of wine) that I began to feel the jetlag take its effects on my eyes. Eventually, I found myself passed out in my chair while my parents continued chatting with one another. I felt my head bobbing as i fell in and out of consciousness at the dinner table. I could hear the employees of the restaurant giggling to themselves while I slept, but there was nothing I could do about it. We finally got back to our rooms and packed some clothes for the next day. Tomorrow, we would go to Hanoi.
____Day 3___
We all woke up at 4 am and caught our plane to Hanoi. I began to run out of Lost episodes to watch on my IPod so my brother and I just slept instead. Hanoi was just as hot as Saigon except I could actually see the blue sky and the outline of the sun behind the polluted clouds that enclosed Vietnam. The streets didn't seem as hectic as Saigon. However, I could tell that it was a more impoverished side of Vietnam. Around noon, we went out with our tour group to see the city of Hanoi. The group consisted of 16 people. One was a family of 6 from Florida who were just like Jim and me, but could speak both English and Vietnamese. There was a man in his 30's and his trashy girlfriend who appeared to be about 20. Mom told us she was probably the man's "paid escort".
And then there was the Mendez family. The father was French and his wife was Vietnamese. Their children, Enzo and Lanna, were the most adorable kids I had ever met in my life. Over time I became attached to both of them, especially Enzo, despite the language barrier. Enzo was three so his language wasnt exactly understood by most people anyway. Lanna was six and slightly more mature than her brother. I couldn't exactly understand either of them but somehow i knew how to communicate perfectly to them. Enzo reminded me so much of myself when I was his age that it seemed I became his older brother. After a while, no matter what he did, it never bothered me. He was my best friend for the times that we were together and Lanna's company only made it better.
First, our group walked past the giant tomb of Ho Chi Minh's body. Outside was guarded by several men who would scream at you if you passed a line on the ground carrying any bag. People with shorts below their knees were allowed inside the complex at certain times of the week to see Ho Chi Minh's perfectly preserved body. Our group did exactly that later in the week.
The rest of the day was spent walking around toursit attractions and looking at ancient temples. At the very end of the day, we watched a puppet water show. It was something I had never seen before but it was also INCREDIBLY boring. It probably would've been more enjoyable had I been able to understand the language. Nevertheless, I could only stay awake for the first ten minutes, but the singers looked even more exhausted than I was. 9 o'clock seemed to be the exact moment where my jet lag kicked in. No matter how hard I tried, I could not manage to keep my eyes open. My head bobbed back and forth as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I could hear the row of girls across from me giggle and point as if I was the new attraction. When the show finished, we walked outside into an entirely different city. The sun had set, but everything around us had been illuminated perfectly. Under the night lights, everything looked entirely different. So different, in fact, that it took us another hour to finally find our hotel again. However, I was relieved to finally relax and watch some TV at the end of the day such a long day. Figures, the only thing on TV that was in English, was soccer.
Day 4
shop around Hanoi city
Day5
wake up at 4am
drive 8 hours in the van to a beach
Enzo and Lanna entertain me the entire journey
along the way we stop at a bunch of caves
we raft through the caves for two hours
go to our hotel
I got a haircut
the lady there tells me I have very nice eyelashes and that I should marry her daughter
at night we go to some beach theme park and its pretty lame
Day 6
we go to HaLong bay and board a giant wooden boat
from there they take us to a large collection of islands
we stop on one of the islands to see a large cave tourist attraction
we then leave the island and stop at a fishing market in the middle of the water
I'm told to shop around the nets and find something good to eat so the boat employees can cook them for us
Someone buys a fish right out of the net. One man pulls it out of the water and slams it down on the dock, two feet away from Enzo and Lanna. He then takes a wooden club and hits it over its head as hard as he can over and over again until its body stops twitching along the wooden planks. Enzo and Lanna don't even appear to be phased. I almost throw up.
We board the boat and everyone eats their freshly dead lunches.
After a while, I started to believe I could understand any language thrown at me with enough patience. I felt like I could read people's minds based on their body language and hand gestures.
The things I ate were beyond recognizable. Everything and anything in the Asian culture tasted better with white rice. the food was served in community bowls and everyone picked at them with chopsticks and ate until they were satisfied. They also rarely ate their food over the table. Instead they ate holding their bowls over their laps with their left hand while they ate using chopsticks with their right. Jim and I could not speak the language but we were already used to most of the strange food that were thrown at us. The way we ate their food so graciously connected us with the people there. It was hard sometimes for me to keep eating some of the foods regardless if I was still hungry or not. Most of the time I was just full and couldn't eat anymore. But other times, some of the food pushed me to the edge of nearly throwing up that I just pretended to be full, knowing that another meal was bound to be around the corner. The two things me and my brother seemed to say the most at the table were, "what is this, mom?" and, "how are we supposed to eat this?" Everything else seemed irrelevant since no one could understand us anyway.
Even our mother seemed to only respond to one language at a time. Once we found her talking to a tour guide in vietnamese when we called out to her, "MOM!!!" our words didn't seem to affect her. It was only until we screamed the same thing in vietnamese a second later (pronounced "MA?") that she would spin around, almost surprised to see us standing only ten feet away.
I also found it interesting that most people I encountered were absolutely positive that I was full Vietnamese and couldn't even tell that I was half Irish, at first. Everyone, including the locals and my various family members, were furious at my mom for not teaching me or Jim Vietnamese. However, some of them took advantage of this and began to talk about us right in front of our faces. We couldn't do the same, however, because we never knew how much English anyone really understood.
Some of the girls Jim and I met along the way would giggle to themselves and call us "Deb Chai!" to our faces. At first, I thought it was an insult along the lines of "Mixed boy!" or "Twinkie!" However, I found out later that it actually meant "handsome boy," and that some of them were actually looking to marry me regardless of the language barrier. I was of course flattered by all of this but I was also relieved. I knew then for sure that even though I couldn't speak the language, I was born and raised in America, and that I was half Irish that it didn't matter to these people. I was accepted in their society regardless of our differences.
By the end of trip, I was the only one in our family not to fall victim to the runs or "number 3" as we so gently put it. I saw scenes of great beauty often and it seemed that if I blinked at any moment, the picture that remained in my mind would be worthy of a screen savor. There were only a few words Jim and I picked up and only fewer that we needed to survive for at least two weeks: toilet, sorry, and thankyou. Everything else could be communicated through some form of sign language along with repeating things enough hoping that, by some miracle, people would start understanding English. Our mother was our great translator throughout the journey. She helped us communicate back and forth between the Vietnamese and other French tourists.
___The Final Day___
This morning my brother and I woke up and met Enzo, Lanna, and their father for breakfast. Our parents are out eating with some more family members I have yet to meet. At the end of the breakfast I tell Enzo and Lanna that I will not see them again and that I have to leave. I give Enzo a hug and Lanna a kiss on the cheek and say goodbye. As I walk away I car hear Enzo begin to cry and his dad trying to calm him down.
I spent most of today walking around Saigon one last time. Jim says he wants to buy a tourist shirt before he leaves so we walk around until we find a market. Soon, it is time to go back to the hotel and meet up with several family members along with my grandma to go out to dinner one last time. We take a cab even though the restaurant is three blocks away. After dinner we all head back to the hotel and we all hang out and pack our things. Jim and I sit down at the computers downstairs for the rest of the night since our plane leaves at 3am. That is when I wrote this. Today is the last day I will spend in Vietnam.
Favorite trip memories:
Seeing the family rubber tree farm
seeing two 80 foot statues of Buddha
playing volleyball with my cousin (who is an absolute beast) and then staying up with him and my brother playing poker.
rafting through caves
seeing ho chi minh's dead body
The Mendez family
the overnight train ride sleeping in the top bunk with a foot of space to move around in
the dirty overnight train ride back to saigon lol
walking on an ocean with no water
2 different hookers groping dad in the same buddhist temple
16 total take offs and landings
5 different hotels
2 different overnight family houses
standing two feet away from a jewelry counter as a fight breaks out between two women behind the counter. Also seeing the security guard pull out his old ass gun and break the whole thing up two minutes later hahaha.
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