vietnam

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

 

As I step onto the bus at the airport, I know none of this yet. My excitement to reach the Airbnb -- where I’ll see Dovi for the first time in months; in fact it’s the first time I’ll see any of my friends since moving to Beijing a few months prior -- my excitement is only mitigated by a deep sense of foreignness.

 

While it’s true that I’ve been living in Asia for quite some time now, China suddenly seems like a Western outpost compared to the wilderness which surrounds Hanoi. And so, as the old bus pulls out of the terminal, leaving just a plume of grey exhaust in its place, I direct my eyes out of the foggy window and watch the passing legions of scooters, swaying palm trees, and toiling women.

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Why do I travel to the developing world? Why does it fascinate so many alienated backpackers who track its muddy roads for months on end? What is it about the filth, the desperate struggle, and the harsh heat that awakens in my heart a sense of authentic life?

 

Do we secretly long for a return to a more natural existence? One that is filled with hard toil, where bread is still provided by the sweat of one’s brow? Perhaps, I think to myself as the bus rumbles down the highway, perhaps Adam’s curse is not so easily avoided, all these millenia later. 

 

Or maybe it’s not the Other that attracts us, but the Self. Arriving in Vietnam, the Westerner is presented with a way of life that seems frozen in time, like a renaissance painting on the wall of the Louvre. When we encounter a culture so completely foreign to one’s own, we are able to take a removed, objective perspective; untarnished by the thousand associations, assumptions, and beliefs that cloud our normal existence, life in the third-world functions like a mirror. By truly seeing the Other, we finally come into contact with our Self. As Levinas says, the ego is discovered in the face of the other.

 

Arriving at the Airbnb’s address, I squeeze between two buildings, walk through a narrow alleyway, and… bump into Dovi! Like a lion rising from his slumber, Dovi bears a look of excitement, slight confusion, and fading exhaustion.

 

Our apartment is arranged like a maze, split into multiple levels, with rooms sprinkled haphazardly along a tunnel-like passage. The main room has some traditional Vietnamese furnishings, and the bedrooms are two separate lofts, only one of which is air conditioned. It goes without saying that Dovi has already claimed the air conditioned room. No matter, if I position the fan correctly, I find that I can sleep quite nicely.

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Perhaps one of the biggest lessons I learned from this trip is the futility of judging others from one’s own perspective. A person can only be fairly judged - and this is the only judgment worth considering - from the perspective that that person occupies. In other words, I learned that my frustrations do not stem from the actions of others, but only from my own inability to place those actions within their proper context.

 

As we ventured out, following the twisting roads, and zigzagging between the rows of scooters which filled the sidewalks, we came across a Dunkin' Donuts watching over the city center. As if by an act of God, the moment we stepped into the bakery, the skies opened up, pouring rain with a vengeance that can only found in SouthEast Asia. Standing on the porch, drinking iced caramel lattes (Dovi’s favorite), munching on donuts, watching bright scooter lights flash passed through the rain, we experienced the simple joy that of two friends finally united.

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Aug. 26

We had booked the Airbnb in Hanoi for three days, but after just one we were feeling that we were ready to move deeper into Vietnam. Our first two days in Hanoi were filled with food, a visit to Ho Chi Minh’s palace (he occupied a lovely grounds with gardens, a pond, and a summer home on stilts), and the spacious Temple of Literature (or Monkey Temple).

 

And so, on the afternoon of our second day, we found ourselves in the travel agent’s office where we booked a bus ticket to the world famous Ha Long Bay. Dovi had wanted to go to Sapa, but I had vetoed what would have been several days of mountain trekking in the summer heat in favor of what I hoped would be the lovely seaside calmness pierced by Ha Long’s towering ocean cliffs.

 

[N.b. Never, under any circumstances, order a Vietnamese coffee. It smells and tastes like cold sugary mud.]

 

That evening, we picked up tall beer cans from the 7/11 across the street from the Airbnb and headed to the central bar district sprawling around Ta Hien Road.

 

On the walk over, we passed by the “Dunkin' Donuts Square” which was closed off to traffic and packed with locals, tourists, and families. As we entered passed the barricades, the lights suddenly turned on, revealing a maze of sparkling street cars selling food, clothing, and women.

 

A staple of Asian nightlife, this was Dovi’s first time at a night market, so we slowly made our way through the throngs of teenage girls while we munched on shitty food and browsed the clothing on sale.

 

At this point, we were getting a slight buzz and were tired from pushing our way through what must have been half of Hanoi’s population, so we stopped in an innocent looking panini shop that was run by a few kids and a tiny chihuahua. After refueling (Dovi found the puppy rather funny), we continued on to Ta Hien.

 

In true SouthEast Asian style, the bars that lined the narrow road blasted music and people out onto the street and crammed tiny tables and stools into the path. At this point, we weren’t walking past bars, but through them. Waitresses, stuffed into tight dresses advertizing the local beers, called out to us, trying to convince us to drink our night away in their establishment. (Strangely enough, we were kicked out of the first bar we chose; seemingly for no clear reason.) After pressing through all of the mayhem -- and swapping Dovi’s broken suitcase for a sexy looking North Face duffel bag -- we made our way to a side street, chose a bar, and squeezed into seats between a small Vietnamese family and a foreign couple.

 

We sat like this -- sipping our beers, smoking our cigarettes, and staring at the bustling road -- for several minutes before the woman who ran the pub suddenly runs out and starts packing up all of the tables! (Women run most of the businesses here.)

 

As police sirens flashed in the distance, the women happily shooed us away from our table, stacked the chairs, and in a manner of seconds, all that was left of the bar were a few people standing around sipping drinks and munching on peanuts.

 

“These outdoor bars are illegal,” explained the Vietnamese dad with broken English and a full smile. As the police car cruises past like a shark through a swarm of tuna fish, and eventually disappeared around a corner, the street snapped back into action. We spent an enjoyable evening swallowed up in the excitement of Ta Hien, and retired to our rooms so that we could wake up early enough to catch our bus to Ha Long.

 

Aug. 27

We checked out of our Airbnb just in time to catch the “bus” (it was more like a van. We were squeezed into the back seat with a Filipino english teach and her Vietnamese student/boyfriend. All we could grab for breakfast were those disgusting coffees I wrote about before. I’m pretty sure I ended up spilling mine out.

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Random thought: there are two ways to see a city. You can put together a list of things to do and then go through it one by one. Or you can wander around and find out what the city decides to show you. At first, Dovi wanted to do the former, while I preferred to do the latter. But we kind of reached a compromise. Anyways, a blend of the two approaches is probably the best. Just as in life. You need to have goals, but you have to let yourself stroll around a bit.

 

We arrive in Ha Long and are duly expelled from the bus onto an empty dock. After 5 hours in a cramped bus, we’re ready to go out and do something! But there doesn’t seem to be much to do. As I go find a bathroom, Dovi finds an Israeli sitting around (oh yeah, there are Israelis everywhere) and learns that Ha Long is pretty small. One afternoon is enough.