Southeast Asia Part II — South Vietnam
Read: Part I
I boarded a flight to Ho Chi Minh City (also known as Saigon), and was scheduled to meet with a group there. This leg of the trip was actually the reason I ended up in Asia in the first place. It’s a long story, but about two years ago, I was feeling good about the amount of money I had saved over the years (and was extremely depressed) so I bought myself two group travel packages for people in their 20s-30s. Well, three actually.
I had a plan for these trips. One of them was just for me because I wanted to fulfill my dream of solo traveling, but wasn’t quite brave enough yet to be completely alone, and therefore opted for the security of a group. The other trip was meant to be one I took with a boyfriend at the time. Long story short — the first trip got me to Morocco last year, and this was also where I met my travel friend Sydney.
The second package, a trip to Croatia, was canceled in the midst of the breakup, and was divided between us. There were no refunds, but I didn’t even care that much because the travel credit wouldn’t expire. I knew that when I was ready I could use the credits to take me somewhere new.
After visiting Morocco, and then tacking on a week in Spain afterwards, my dreams of solo travel only magnified. After that trip, I felt more confident, and decided that I would use my second trip a year from then, but I would be away for a longer period. The company I booked with organizes group tours to many countries, but I was set on the trip which visited Vietnam and Cambodia.
I didn’t even read the itinerary before committing to it. I can’t convincingly explain why, but for years I had felt like Vietnam was calling me to visit. I suppose I had a similar feeling about Morocco. People have asked me why I wanted to travel to these places, and I’ve never had a good answer — I just wanted to.
Thinking about it more though, perhaps my not having a clear answer was the answer. Outside of some history, food, and cliches, I didn’t know much about any of these places, and wanted to see if I could get immersed in the heartbeat of these countries and cultures. Of course, the immersion of a visitor is always going to have its limits, but I wasn’t going to these places to become an expert. I was going to drink in as much stimuli as my senses could handle, and learn more about these places, and myself, in the process.
When I began planning this trip, I blocked out three weeks. Then I quit my job and extended the trip to four weeks. Then while on the trip, and with encouragement from friends (and following some signs from the universe) it became six. My first week had been pretty magical, and I was looking forward to what would come next.
I landed at the Ho Chi Minh airport first and met the group guide, a lively and frenetic man in his 30’s named Lee. As the hours passed, my fellow travelers for the next 11 days arrived. To my surprise, the group was really small. It was me, a couple, and two other women.
I later found out that me and the other two women were all Sagittarius's. It was a cute surprise, but I can’t say we had much in common besides that. I couldn’t find much commonality with the couple either. Fortunately, everyone was friendly and kind, but I felt like we were people who didn’t fit together. I’ll admit that this disappointed me. I had hoped that I would meet another new close friend on this trip, but it didn’t feel like life would pan out that way.
I also had very recently been with a group of people the last few days that I had really enjoyed spending time with, all of whom were traveling solo. I felt envious of them, and I internally regretted having booked this group trip at all. In this state, my mind only continued to engage in unhelpful behaviors like wishing the group was bigger so I had more friend options, hoping that things might change, and then judging myself for judging people that I barely knew.
After some cyclical thought, I grew tired of my spiral, and went into re-frame mode. Sure, I could be disappointed that I didn’t meet a new friend that I instantly clicked with, or I could grow from this. If I wanted to, I could choose to look at my circumstances like a movie (and I love movies). Maybe we could be the unlikely crew that ended up bonding, or maybe I could learn something really profound from one of them.
After 11 days, I can’t say that anything super profound occurred, but I did get to practice one of the simplest life lessons, which was to make the best of it, and to appreciate people in their totality. I may not have gotten a bestie out of the experience, but that doesn’t mean that nothing special happened: I got to see us develop a mini community with one another.
Apart from our guides and random interactions with strangers, we mostly only had each other to talk to. Quickly, we started to do nice little things for each other like sharing food and snacks, borrowing each other’s things that we may have forgotten to pack, and slowing down if someone was lagging behind. I recall one day, towards the end of the trip, feeling so touched when the couple surprised me with a small bottle of soju. I had mentioned in passing that it was one of the few alcoholic drinks I liked, and then it appeared.
Another special moment occurred with one of the Sagittarius’ when we tapped into childlike fun. We were hanging out at a hotel pool in Cambodia, and started challenging ourselves to see how long we could hold our breaths. We swam back and forth across the pool, trying to reach the other end without coming up for air. Eventually, after enough tries, we made it end-to-end and it was a thrilling victory. I don’t think I’ll cross paths with this group of people ever again but I grew to appreciate the unique qualities everyone had, and how the experience pushed me to open myself more.
So anyway, back to Ho Chi Minh —
I’ll admit I wasn’t a huge fan. It is the most populated city in Vietnam–about 9 million people–and you can feel it. Crossing main streets packed with thousands of speeding motorbikes felt like a deathtrap, and also an exercise in trust. I had thought that Hanoi was busy, but then saw it was child’s play compared to Saigon.
Lee advised us that the best way to cross these busy streets was to just go for it, and walk confidently — the bikes and cars expected this and would stop or flow around you. This was a valuable lesson throughout the entire trip because the streets really did feel more dangerous if you hesitated or stalled too much.
Lee lived in Ho Chi Minh and told us about how expensive it was to live in the area, and how expensive life was for Vietnamese people in general. Although Vietnam is one of the fastest growing economies in Asia, this awareness was not lost on me. With an exchange rate of 24,420 Vietnamese Dong to $1 USD, my money went very far there.
Owning a car, for instance, is very rare for Vietnamese people because of the unreachable cost. It explained why I had seen endless motorbikes from the moment I stepped foot in the country. It wasn’t uncommon to see babies and toddlers riding with their parents on motorbikes either. Initially, this stunned me, but then it became very normal. If that’s the only way you have to get around, that’s what you do. At the max, I once saw 3 kids on a bike and, presumably, their two parents, sandwiching them on both ends.
When you think about it though, this isn’t that crazy. What is crazy is that about 90% of people in the U.S. own (at least) one car. In contrast, in 2020, just 5.7% of households in Vietnam owned a car. With the traffic and population density already being what it is though, it’s difficult to imagine how even more cars would affect it.
It goes without saying that if an average Vietnamese person wanted to travel to the US or Europe it would be really expensive for them. Say they had the ability to though? I learned from Lee that this would be a difficult feat. Unless you have a robust financial history, and can prove that you will return, most Vietnamese people have their visa requests rejected on their first few tries. Even landing a visa interview at all can be a very long wait.
Having a U.S passport, I hadn’t had to think about any of this. I had to get a tourist visa to enter the country, but it was a pretty simple process. All I had to do was fill out an online application and pay $25. The biggest roadblock I faced in the process was that the visa website could be buggy; I initially got rejected because I had omitted my middle name in the application, but that was basically it. I didn’t need to schedule an interview or show proof of anything.
One night, Lee took us all to a street lined with restaurants. There were rows of large, open-air spaces selling some of the freshest seafood I’ve ever had. We sat at short tables that faced the street. He told us that Vietnamese people liked to hang out at places like this to eat and watch people and traffic go by. Vietnamese hospitality was such that you could stay at places like this for hours, and not be rushed out. I loved that. I had some amazing octopus and shellfish that night, and washed it all down with Bia Saigon beers.
Throughout the meal, people approached our table a number of times for money, or to sell cut fruit, souvenirs, lottery tickets. It was a bit disruptive, but we were tourists with a strong currency. I felt bad every time I said no to someone; unfortunately, it was something I’d have to get used to throughout the entirety of the trip. (It would only get tougher in Cambodia, but I’ll get to that in part III)
You might be wondering — “Solange, you went to Vietnam! The Vietnam. Did you see anything war related?” Yes, I did. Vestiges of the Vietnam War or, as the people of Vietnam appropriately call it, “The American War” are everywhere.
You can spot veterans in the streets, sometimes with missing arms, legs, or eyes. Souvenir shops include things like soldier uniforms and propaganda posters of the time. The war is embedded in the land as well. Even today, there are still millions (you read that right) of unexploded landmines left over from the war, and these unexploded materials pose dangers for local populations. There are no-go zones, and children in high-risk areas receive landmine education to reduce accidents and deaths.
Cu Chi Tunnels
I visited the remnants of the Cu Chi Tunnels about an hour outside Ho Chi Minh — a network of underground tunnels that the Vietcong, the southern Vietnamese army, used during the war. It was amazing to look at maps of the network, and I even got to walk through one of them. The tunnels were tight and claustrophobic. The Vietcong used them to hide and shield themselves from bombs, and they even built fires and prepared food within them.
I also saw an array of booby traps that the Vietcong designed to wound American soldiers. In Lee’s telling of the war, he described the Vietcong as regular farmers and laypersons who would moonlight as fierce defenders of their lands. He said their goal was not to kill American soldiers, but rather to seriously wound them so that they would leave, and so that the U.S. would have emotional reactions to how bad the injuries were and want to put a stop to it.
The Vietcong were impressively resourceful. They made weapons and bombs out of everyday materials like fire extinguishers, and repurposed unexploded U.S. bombs. The sandals they used were made of tires, and they wore the sandals backward so that their footprints would look like they were walking in the opposite direction.
Distressingly, there was a shooting range located right next to this historical site. While walking through the grounds, I heard loud streams of gunshots. It reminded me of the humbling truth that we all experience this life differently. Some of us learn about the horrors of war and feel a chill down our spine, and some of us want to reenact it.
It’s difficult to describe the feelings I had while learning about Vietnam’s history and witnessing some of the long-term effects of the war with my own eyes. Meanwhile, every day when I scrolled my social feeds, I came face to face with the chilling imagery of massacred Gazan children in a city of rubble. I felt angry and heartbroken over humanity’s tendency for division and violence, and for the inevitable suffering of the masses.
On the other hand, I looked at the beauty of Vietnam and its people and saw proof of the resilience of the human spirit. I saw that, even through so much pain, loss, and suffering, a brighter future for incoming generations was possible.
Although Saigon had its delights, I felt some relief when we left the city and continued south. I looked out the window the entire ride enjoying how the roads emptied as we got further out. The further we got, the more palm trees and dense forestry I saw.
Lung Liem
We arrived in Vung Liem, a rural district in the Mekong Delta region, and settled in really beautiful accommodations. Like seriously, look at the insane shower in my room. If you ever want to stay at a place like this though, keep in mind that you will see little geckos climbing along your walls. I didn’t mind them because they were honestly pretty cute, and they eat mosquitos! I had also already seen them crawling around walls and ceilings during the Ha Giang Loop, so I was used to it.
The lodge we stayed in had bicycles to borrow, and Lee took us on a ride around our surroundings. The air smelled fresh as we rode alongside the wet rice fields. It was a sleepy area, and there wasn’t much around. The road was mostly empty, with only an occasional motorbike or car passing through. When cycling past homes, children who spotted us would excitedly yell and wave “Hello hello!” And some would yell, “What’s your name?!”
I loved their friendliness, and always waved and said “hello!” back to them. The greetings had been the same when I was traveling along the Loop. I wondered if Vietnamese children were friendlier, or if perhaps it was because I was in rural areas, and seeing new people was exciting. Whatever the reason, I enjoyed how cute they were.
We made a stop at a home, and Lee greeted an old man who lived there. The man took out a few coconuts that his son had gotten from a tree earlier that day and used a large knife to slice the tops for us. I enjoyed the subtle sweetness of the coconut water and when I was done, he split the husk into two pieces so that I could scrape out the milky coconut meat inside.
I asked Lee how he knew this man, because they seemed so warm towards each other. Lee said that he just introduced himself one day, and that’s how they met. This ended up being the case with several other people Lee brought us to. He had a gift for talking to strangers, or maybe it was that it wasn’t abnormal to introduce yourself to people in the Vietnamese countryside. The kids loved to say hello, after all.
It made me think about my brother. When he was alive, he could talk to anyone. In our childhood home, my brother knew many of the neighbors on our street because he would strike up conversations when he saw them. When I was a kid, I sometimes thought it was weird that he’d talk to anyone, but now I see that it was a superpower.
While in Vung Liem, we took boat rides along a nearby river, and visited local markets and makers. It was a joy to walk through these markets and watch people shop for fruits, vegetables, meats, and fresh-caught fish. Many sellers, especially those selling meat and fish, had miniature fans above the goods, with plastic bags tied on, to continuously keep flies away.
One interesting highlight was visiting a coconut factory, and observing the multi-step process to make mats made out of coconut husks. The first step was husking the coconuts, and I watched dozens of men and women slam coconut after coconut onto a sharp spike. The coconut was put into one pile, and the shell into another. The work looked difficult and tiring.
The next step was putting the shells into a grinding machine which shredded the fibers. I then saw women on machines feeding the coconut fibers into a machine to make a coarse thread. After that, several of the smaller threads were twisted together to make a thick rope. Coconut debris flew around everywhere, and most of the workers wore masks to avoid breathing in the small particles.
The last stage did not include any machine, and was a two-person job. Using a large loom, they weaved the coconut ropes into mats. I was told that the people who made the mats were usually husband and wife teams. I wondered what it was like to do such a repetitive and labor-intensive task with your spouse all day. I watched the multiple husband and wife teams that were weaving, and most looked to work in silence. It made sense. What was there to talk about if you worked all day together and also lived together? Perhaps, too, it was safer to simply focus on the task at hand, and then talk outside of work.
I learned that the arrival of the coconut factory was somewhat new, and that it had provided many jobs to people in the area. In the past, I’ve mostly held jobs where I’ve had to be in an office. I’m not always the best at expressing gratitude for the life I have been given, and seeing people husking coconuts for 12 hours a day provided perspective.
Another interesting career path I saw in this area was frog farming. We visited a woman who started this small business for herself just a few years back, but it appeared to be thriving. Outside of her family home several large pools were filled with frogs in various stages of development. The story was inspiring, too. She was a single mom, and wanted to find a way to support her family. So, she learned about how to run a frog farm from YouTube videos. Not everything is bad about the modern age, ay?
After looking around at the farm, we all sat down at a table outside of this woman’s home and tried freshly fried frog legs. I’m not going to lie — it was a bit strange to have just looked at a bunch of frogs, raved about how cool and cute some of them were, and then immediately ate them afterward, but that’s just life, ain’t it? They were delicious by the way… And yes, they do kind of taste like chicken.
On our last night in Vietnam, we met a Vietcong veteran and his wife who was a nurse during that time. He told us about his time as a soldier, when he was only a teenager, and how his hand was destroyed when he came into contact with a landmine. His hand was deformed, and only his thumb survived, but he could not move it or feel it. Even still, he enjoyed playing music and strummed at a mandolin and taught us a song about Ho Chi Minh.
Even after everything they had been through, they were so warm and kind. We sat in their home, and were served tea and snacks. I know that part of that was Vietnamese hospitality, but I felt moved every time I got to be in someone’s home.
The next day, Lee dropped us off at the airport, and we said our heartfelt goodbyes. I didn’t know what was in store next, but I was definitely looking forward to it. Our next stop was Siem Reap, Cambodia.
Read: Part III
