Day 21: about this dragon…

When we left Korea, I shipped three years of my life home in boxes of all sizes. Big boxes of bedding, shoes, books I couldn’t part with, even bags of 쌈장 and 된장 (Korean bean pastes) I couldn’t foresee finding in Kentucky and living without. (Not having immediate access to Korean food has been a struggle for both of us already.) When we left Hoi An, a few days ago, we sent a box home of things we brought, or already bought, and didn’t need, and Andrew’s new suit. Not a problem! My dragon, on the other hand proved to be a big. big. problem.

When we got to the Post Office, I left Andrew to write out postcards and walked up to counter 7, where the man eyed my dragon suspiciously and tried to fit it into a box. “Too big!” He declared. “Cannot send. This is the biggest size box you can ship to USA. Cannot send. Go to counter 8.”

Counter 8 turned out to be the DHL counter. They told me I needed a box first. They sent me back to counter 7 for a box.

Counter 7 shook his head at me. “Too big! Cannot send!” he barked. I shook my head to assure him I understood, and asked for a box. He eyed me suspiciously, but took my dragon, and put two printer boxes together to make a new bigger box, fit the dragon right in, and demanded the equivalent of $5.00 for his handiwork.

Back at Counter 8, they shook their head and said it would be very expensive. Wrote down $211.00 on a piece of paper and said it would take 3-5 days. I asked for something slower (cheaper) and they sent me to Counter 6. Counter 6 sends me back to Counter 7. Counter 7 barks at me again, “Too big! No! Cannot send! Go Counter 8!” I go back, to Counter 8. They look at the box again, then do some calculations again, and then they write $593.00 on the same piece of paper they wrote $211.00 on previously. I look at them like they must have made a mistake. I asked for something slower. They informed me they only did express shipping. I pointed to $211.00 and asked what happened. They pointed to $593.00 and waited for me to magically understand. I told them I could not pay $593.00 and plopped my box down next to Andrew, who was – throughout this whole ordeal- still sitting in the middle of the three counters writing out postcards.

“It’s not possible. I can’t send it.” I told him, close to tears, again. (Have I mentioned my emotions have been a little heightened this first month of travel?)

He gets up, takes the box to Counter 6. Gets sent to Counter 7, where the same postal clerk looks at me like I must be missing something in the head. “I’m sorry! Too big! Cannot send!” he tells Andrew. Andrew tries to explain how light it is and asks again why they can’t send it. Counter 7 ignores him. Andrew doesn’t budge. I try to hide, until I eventually see Andrew get sent to Counter 8. The girls at Counter 8 have disappeared. I convince Andrew that it’s not possible, and we take our dragon to the agency where we booked our bus tickets to Cambodia.

The girls at the tour guide agency demand to know what is in the box. I say “Dragon!” and I do the dance. They shake their heads and say we have to talk to the bus driver, maybe the box is too big, and we cannot take it with us. I make the executive decision that I will wear the dragon head on the 5 hour bus ride if I have to. Andrew makes the executive decision to get a motorbike so we can pile as many boxes as we’d like on the back. We walk up to the bus drivers. There are at least five of them. They all look at me suspiciously until one asks what is in the box. “Dragon!” I said again, and again, I do the dance. “Ohhh…” and they respond in Vietnamese, and do the dance. “Yes!” I cry, relieve to see them smiling. One of them demands $10.00, and I say “No way!” and they laugh, repeated “No way!” to each other and put the dragon under the bus.

“Maybe we should just take the dragon with us around the world.” I suggested to Andrew once we got on the bus.

“Maaaybe…” He replied, unconvinced.

Day 20: Cu Chi Tunnels & dragon hunting

Just like Sapa, the Cu Chi Tunnels outside of Saigon, have become overrun with tourists, which totally took away from the experience. I told Andrew that afternoons in big groups like the one we were in make me appreciate not being part of a big tour group all of the time. The tunnels were made and used by the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War. Not only do the network of underground tunnels run around southern Vietnam, but they also provide a route to get to and from Cambodia as well. There aren’t any rides, parades, or princesses, but I feel like the tunnels have a Disneyland quality about them, if Disneyland were set in the middle of a jungle, with death traps, bomb craters, and an AK47 shooting range. Tourists get the opportunity to disappear in hidden entry points to the tunnels, take pictures with dressed up Viet Cong manequins, shoot guns, and walk through the tunnels. It’s educational, but a bit of a wonderland, and I wonder if in ten years if visitors will get to dress up in Viet Cong gear and enter the tunnels in an even more simulated experience.

In true Vietnamese fashion, our bus stopped off at a handicrafts workshop and store for 30 minutes. I amused myself photographing a garage door instead of shopping.

Halfway through our tour, it started pouring. Andrew made fun of me for packing a mini-umbrella. Guess who is making fun of who now?

When we got back into Saigon, we immediately hopped into a cab to go to district 5 (doesn’t it sound like we’re in the Hunger Games?) to get my dragon.

me: I’m sorry I’m making you go on this adventure with me…
Andrew: I think we’re a little beyond that by now…
(I guess he’s right, a day of dragon hunting is nothing compared to a year around the world.)

I handed my directions in Vietnamese over to the cab driver. He asked me something in Vietnamese. I responded with an apprehensive expression. Then he did the dragon dance. He pretended to have a dragon head on and wiggled back and forth in his seat a bit. I’m sure my face lit up, I shook my head up and down and said “Yes! A dragon!” and did the dance back to him. He dropped us off right outside a Chinese dragon shop ten minutes or so later.

We thought we were going to a market, but we ended up on a street in Chinatown with three different shops full of dragons. We walked in and out of all three dragon shops, pricing them out, before we returned to the first shop and eyed three different dragons. I tried them on. I made Andrew try them on. And then I debated. I intended to get the smaller size, but they looked cheap, and not nearly as ornate. The biggest one was by far the prettiest and most well put together. But it was nearly triple the price. I hemmed. I hawed. I made Andrew put the dragon heads back on again. And then he asked which one I really wanted. I said the big one, but it was expensive, and I knew my mom would yell at me for getting it. He reminded me it was my birthday, and he hadn’t gotten me a present yet! It really wasn’t that expensive, but this way, I wouldn’t be the one in trouble with my mom for buying a dragon in Saigon in month 1 of 15 of our travels! Awesome!

Not awesome: realizing we didn’t have any Vietnamese cash with us and we were in the middle of Chinatown. We walked around to three or four different atm machines. I told myself it was ok to not have a dragon, I didn’t NEED it… We wouldn’t have to worry about shipping… I could maybe find one in an American Chinatown… and then one magically spit money out at us and we were back in business! We dropped the dragon off at our hotel before going restaurant hopping for our last meal in Saigon. We do this somewhat often- we hop between restaurants, ordering one dish at each restaurant so we can get more of a variety of food/ambiance.

The second restaurant we eyed said “Traditional Vietnamese Food” on the sign. I rolled my eyes. “We would never go to a traditional Korean restaurant in Seoul!” I told Andrew, as he stopped to look at the menu. I wouldn’t even cross the street, yet he kept eyeing it until a westerner walked out and told us “Oh it’s great! You should try it, really good food!” So we went in. Big. mistake. The restaurant was clean, but too clean (and too empty) to be a good Vietnamese joint. The food was ok… but not as good as what we had had already, and it was pricey! ($4.00 for fried rice, tofu and a beer! Crazy talk!) On our way out, the Spaniard was still there talking to the chef. He told us he had just gotten into Saigon – from Spain – that afternoon.

“Seriously, he’s been here for a day and we went in on his recommendation?!?” I asked Andrew when we were outside. “Ohmigod, I know…” He responded and we pouted. I eyed the Vietnamese group slurping up what looked like delicious bowls of fried noodles, sitting on little plastic stools surrounding a table full of sweaty beers, and declared that we would no longer eat at any traditional fill-in-the-blank cuisine restaurants anymore. Andrew agreed.

At least his hotel pick in Saigon was stellar. That night, the manager sent up a little cake for my birthday, which we ate before I promptly danced around as a dragon.

Day 19: Turning 30 in Saigon

My birthday in Saigon was not what I expected it to be… not that any birthday is, really… But I wanted to go to the market, get a dragon, figured we may as well stop by the War Remnants Museum for an hour-ish for Andrew to see, and then go straight to a cafe a friend recommended and lounge for the rest of the afternoon. None of this really happened, except the museum, for an entirely too long of time on one’s birthday. I mean seriously, what was I thinking?

Lesson #6 learned from traveling around the world: Do NOT go to any kind of war-related museum on your birthday. Unless pictures of… perhaps the effects of agent orange put you in the party mood, it’s simply better to avoid going. Save it for the day after your birthday at least…

First stop, Ben Thanh Market. I thought, surely I’d be able to find my dragon here!

The market is pretty big, and last time I was there, tents and miscellaneous shops were set up on the outside of the market structure. We entered through the clothing section, Andrew (finally) settled on a pair of sunglasses, and we walked through, hoping to find a dragon. Me, more so than Andrew, of course. Through the fruit stands, coffee stands, noodle shops, and then we set foot in – what felt like a souvenir section. Unfortunately the only dragons that were offered were of the keychain variety. Not exactly what I had in mind.

Disappointed, we made our way to The War Remnants Museum. I had already been there, but didn’t remember it taking very long (I think they’ve added a few sections or reorganized in the past four years). I also seemed to have blocked from my memory how horrible and awful it made me feel setting foot inside. American planes and tanks line the outside of the building, while Anti-American propaganda pretty much hangs on all of the walls inside of the building.

I’m not the most knowledgeable about the Vietnam War, but I know enough to tell that this museum is ridiculously one-sided. Regardless of your opinion (if America should have been involved in the war or not), the museum presented the war (in my very humble opinion) as if it was America who was the enemy- and America only! I didn’t walk away (for the second time) from this museum having any of my questions answered, if anything dozens of more questions were raised. It did nothing to explain a step by step process of how the war began, what happened during the war (other than to what lengths America destroyed the countryside and people- which granted, we did, but still, a little more well-rounded explanation would have been appreciated). Oh, and by the way, thanks Vietnam for the entire section of Agent Orange (complete with orange walls, as if to really drive the point home) symptoms, side effects, and birth defects. Because by the time I made it to that section, as an American I didn’t feel bad enough…

“Well they won, they can write whatever they want to in their history books…” Andrew replied to one of my fits.

“But that doesn’t make it right.” I retorted, longing for a happier birthday.

Here’s what got my panties in a twist:

1. The museum didn’t seem to acknowledge that it was the North who originally thought the South was the enemy (and vice versa)

2. Why do people pose in front of airplanes, bombers, and tanks that wreaked such havoc during the war? I remember asking my mom to to take a picture of me in front of the Enola Gay at the Smithsonian when I was 13 years old or so. I think I was excited that I knew what it was more than anything else. But I remember being really confused, thinking “do you smile in front of a plane that dropped the first atomic bomb?” I went for the confused look and have since never had a picture taken of me in front of something similar.

3. Senator Bob Kerrey. Why is it that a senator (or fill in the blank government position here) can hold office after killing innocent women and children in a war (and according to the museum do a lot more really horrible things) but a senator (or was he a representative?) can’t tweet a picture of his package? I’m not condoning either. But don’t you find it a little fascinating that one is ok because it’s “patriotic” and the other is practically considered heinous just because it’s creepy? And it is creepy, I’m not standing up for the pervert tweeter, but at least his tweet didn’t murder anyone!

After the museum, we stopped by the post office to mail a postcard to my favorite elementary school students, and then we tried to find the cafe Hans recommended to us. We talked about the Vietnam War nearly the entire time. Which I enjoy. I really enjoy talking about politics and history with Andrew, but maybe it’s not a good idea to do so when walking around for two hours (in what felt like circles) trying to find a restaurant at an address that did not match up.

Lesson #7 learned from traveling around the world: Get exact directions, and confirmation of a cafe’s address/location before you go traipsing around to find it on your birthday. It’s just not worth the three hours of looking for, not finding it, and walking home. 

By the time dusk rolled around, we were forty minutes or so away from our hotel without a dragon, a clue where the cafe was, and any kind of “Yay it’s my birthday!” feeling. And I desperately wanted all of those things, which led to desperately wanting other things- like a hot shower, and clothes that weren’t from my backpack, a backpack I liked (rather than the one I have), and my girlfriends to celebrate my birthday with me… A “Happy Birthday!” on Facebook, or an email if I’m lucky is nice, but it’s just not the same, you know? Anyway- The list went on in my head, and I started to sniffle. Andrew stopped walking and gave me a hug and promised we’d find a place to sit down soon, which we did, and we even found a souvenir shop, that didn’t have a dragon, but gave me directions to where I could find one.

After sitting down, a few drinks, and directions to a dragon, I decided my 30th year might not be so bad after all…

Day 18: 26 hours on a bus from Hoi An to Saigon

It wasn’t an exciting day, to say the least. We woke up in Nha Trang after 12 hours or so on an overnight bus from Hoi An. I’ve heard mostly terrible things about Nha Trang (muggings namely, but the deaths of two former English Teachers in Korea didn’t help matters) so despite it having beautiful beaches, I didn’t want to stay. Also, I didn’t want to be on a bus for my birthday. As it turned out, neither bus (there were two) were all that bad. They were only about 1/3 full, and we were able to stretch out and play musical bus seats when we wanted to sit up or lay down.

Patience is a virtue that I’m constantly improving upon while traveling. In the past, I didn’t remember the bus from Nha Trang to Saigon taking as long. Then I realized, the Vietnamese kid we picked up in the middle of nowhere, and then dropped off in the middle of nowhere probably had something to do with it. Annoyed, after being on a bus for nearly 23 hours at this point, I wanted to give the driver a piece of my mind, but it’s Vietnam. I don’t speak Vietnamese. He doesn’t speak English. What can you do?