The New Nam: A young American's view (however skewed) of Vietnam

Travel Story by Dakota Gale

Hue, Vietnam

A thrill-seeking Vietnamese sprite on the back of my rusty one-speed bike clings to the rack and squeals gleefully as we roar down the pot-holed road. My friend Eric parks his bike and sings a Red Hot Chili Peppers' song to three young Vietnamese girls while they laugh uncontrollably at the funny white guy with sweat stains on his back; even with the monsoons, seething temperatures turn all travelers into fountains. The full moon is suspended in the sky over Hue and illuminates dozens of houseboats lined up on the river. I can see the flicker of TVs aglow, families relaxing after a day in the fields - a woman rocks her baby in a makeshift hammock, a hypnotic motion.

Later that night, we sit and drink a pitcher of bia hoi, the local beer, at one of the thousands of sidewalk stalls in Vietnam. We sip frosty brew, toast with a nearby table of drunk Vietnamese eager to interact with us and watch the moon rise over the Hue Citadel while we catch up on the past few months. My girlfriend Chelsea is back at the hotel throwing up a delicious dinner of Indian food, penance for sampling street food in Asia.

Forty years ago, Hue was a different scene. The brightly lit streets where I now find myself laughing and racing Vietnamese guys on their scooters, the laughing, waving children yelling "hello," the friendly smiles from street vendors before they latch onto you like a leech in heat... all that was a distant dream. Instead there was the sharp smell of spent shells, the bap-bap-bap of AK-47s, and the thump of mortars and the dull thud of helicopters in the distance. The moon rose over broken streets littered with mangled bodies, the Citadel crumbled under bombs, and I am SO GLAD I wasn't there. Hue, a scant 75 km from the de-militarized zone (DMZ, confluence between north and south Vietnam at the 17th parallel) is now calm and peaceful, as are all of the Vietnamese cities that I visited in the last three weeks.

Our parents have all expressed their amazement that we can travel through, investigate, and experience a country that, 40 years ago, was one of the scariest places in the world. I tend to agree. For once in my travels, I am reading books about the place I am visiting, giving me a different angle of Vietnam. Copies of famous books about Vietnam are hawked by "friendly" sellers eager to cut you a deal on a classic read (and deals they are; Lonely Planet best watch their sales when you can pick up a copied Cambodia guide for $3, complete with misspelled words and letters blurry enough to pop a blood vessel in your brain!).

All the places I have visited are mentioned, either in passing or as the center of a conflict (Hue, for example). The authors create a terrifying picture of Vietnam, a vivid snapshot of a place in turmoil: the jungles, the fear, the tension of a country at war. I have walked on a rainy night on China Beach, the rest and relaxation haven for bedraggled troops; traipsed across the bridge separating north from south Vietnam (a statue of a woman looking north sits on the south shore of the dividing river, a symbol of separated families); slipped my way through slimy tunnels of Vinh Moc (home to 200 villagers during the war, a 41 km (25 mile) underground labyrinth); stood under the blades of a Huey helicopter at the Khe Sanh combat base and read comments from returning soldiers in the guest book - "Khe Sanh, a nice place to visit...NOW."

What I continually feel is amazement at the contrast, the shift in opinion of the local people who at one point packed rockets and ammunition along the Ho Chi Minh trail - the ability of someone whose parents grew up in the war and experienced the horrid byproducts of warfare to drop the pain and move on, at least to my blind eyes and ignorance. Smiles abound, local people want to talk, and the thing I find most lacking is, surprisingly, animosity.

The FRIENDLINESS of the Vietnamese - their eagerness to discuss their rebuilt 1964 Vespa or clink beer mugs with you or the cherubic "hellllloooo" from a cute little girl and the sincere calloused handshake from her older brother - these are things that impress me, make me feel welcome. A simple conversation with a fisherman out along a placid river, the only sound being a water buffalo munching audibly on manicured paddy grass - this is the new Vietnam, a place where women in conical hats lean on their hoes and wave as you cruise past on a Honda Dream scooter.

A friendly Vietnam, a safe haven...where you can be fleeced like a retarded sheep by a little girl hawking ceramic whistles, then turn around and find your bus ticket unbooked for the next morning by your greedy hotel - but no worries, they can book an expensive train ticket to the WRONG city!

Suffice to say that for all my wholehearted innocence, I am still on my guard for the Vietnamese out to make a buck (many transactions in Vietnam are, in fact, done in dollars). It is a mixture of pain and pleasure, the constant bartering and haggling, but it is part of traveling in a foreign country and must be dealt with. Vietnam is MUCH easier to survive than China: most people speak English, I haven't used a squat toilet yet (and all bathrooms have toilet paper), no cigarette smoke on buses, they feed you on trains, and there isn't a layer of spittle coating every surface. Easy like that calculus test you didn't study for because your roommates were watching The Family Guy. Dive in, stop and chat with the workers in fields, step away from the tourist attractions. The sincere smiles will make you glad you did.

Read more about the author of this story:
Dakota Gale