(Nov. 8, 2007)                        Why go to Vietnam?

I have traveled in southeast Asia before, including Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and tiny bits of Myanmar and Malaysia.  I lived in Thailand for three and a half years.  I wanted to visit the region again, but something held me back from returning to the place I had lived before.  I didn’t want to be reminded of the life that could have been, to see the old friends again; besides, I have already been back for a visit twice.  There is nothing new to say to people when I go back.  But I had enjoyed Vietnam.  Besides, I wanted to write about Vietnam, and a trip there might refresh my memory.  I also had a friend who was going to be there; maybe I could hook up with him for a couple of days.  On these things my decision was based. 

I decided to start my trip in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon.  That’s also where I began the only other time I came here, in 1995.  Inside I was filled with questions: would the place be the same, or different?  Would I recognize certain street corners or buildings?  I hoped so.  Would it be full of tourists and cars and noise, more than the last time?  I hoped not.  Would I run into the same anxiety, the ‘staying in the hotel room syndrome?’  I would fight against that.  Would I meet interesting people?  How fast would I be able to recall the scant Vietnamese I had learned before?  These things all went through my mind on the flight and in the weeks that led up to the trip. 

I didn’t expect the trip to be the same as my 1995 trip.  For one thing, I have changed.  I know a lot more about the world than I did then.  Then I was naïve, I had dreams; today I still have dreams, but I also more experience.  But one thing is still true: I still feel that I belong out here in the world, not in the malls and offices of America.  I am an explorer, an exile, a student of life.  I like to learn by meeting people and observing things, and by being there.  I say: why use the Internet when you can buy a plane ticket and go there in person.

The first hour in HCMC shattered any illusion that things would be the same, or even recognizable.  I purposely directed my taxi to Pham Ngu Lao street, which back in ’95 was the backpacker street.  But then there were not that many foreign travelers in Vietnam, of any sort.  I remembered the little row of shops across the street from the hotels, and how I had stopped to talk to the women who worked in them on my way out or coming back from some excursion in the city.  Now, the place was crawling with tourists: it looked like a carnival and felt like a United Nations zone.  Vendors and motorbike taxis called out, “You! You! Where you go?” every step of the way.  Cosmopolitan-looking cafes filled with Westerners blasted out rock music, big tour buses took up big sections of the block, every other store seemed to be a travel agent or touring outfit. 

And my former hotel?  I was sure I could find it if I could get my bearings, but to be honest, I just couldn’t recognize the block at all.  There wasn’t a single building that I remembered from before.  I didn’t even recognize the look or the feeling of the block.  And that row of shops across the street with their friendly staff?  Gone, completely eradicated.  In their place stood a park, which is a nice thing by itself, but it made me feel a sense of loss.  That Saigon that I known before would have to live on in my memory, because it had already changed for good. 

I tried to go for walks around the neighborhoods nearby, to see if I could get the city back inside my head.  In my memory was a misty recollection of all the places I had frequented, from Pham Ngu Lao street down to the Rex Hotel, all the museums, and the blocks nearby.  But I got pitifully lost.  It was like they had moved things around on me; it just wasn’t like I remembered it.  Having a map didn’t help, because I had forgotten to bring my reading glasses, and the print was so small that I couldn’t read the street names. 

It was now the end of my second day, and I was wondering if I should have come back to Vietnam at all. The question was, how was I going to spend the next three weeks?

To be continued.