Speeding Through Saigon... Viet Nam

Saigon, Mekong Delta, Mu Nei (Vietnam)

November 24 - December 23, 2008

Take a moment to live vicariously through a glimpse of my life in Vietnam.  Sit back, relax, and visualize the world as if you were breathing in the hot exhaust-filled air, smelling the wafting scents of a hot steaming bowl of pho, and tasting the scintillating the flavours of the fresh market fruits.

Imagine yourself for a moment, immersed in the afternoon heat of the Vietnamese city of Saigon.  The massive trees and green grasses of Tao Dan Park offer a reprieve from the hypnotic ebb and flow of the incessant scooters.  In a wave of gestures and a screaming bell whistle, your peace has been invaded by a uniformed guard who ushers you off the grasses and onto a concrete bench along the concrete path.  You settle to watch several groups of fitness enthusiasts wearing interesting opinions of athletic clothing.  They have congregated for daily workout routines led by fitness buffs toting subwoofers with a preference for bad 80’s Asian pop music.  Just as you’ve moved your gaze towards the badminton matches and shuttlecock kicking circles, a pretty girl sits next to you and asks you to help her with her English exam.  An hour and a phone number later, she thanks you profusely and leaves you with a gift of local exotic fruits.

As dusk settles over the city, you meander back to your hotel district and find yourself settling into a corner café along a busy Saigon street.  Flashes of metal and helmets stream by as you gaze across at the French-influenced two-storey buildings from a by-gone era. A particular motorcycle or bicycle occasionally catches your attention, transporting unstable heaps of random merchandise, far exceeding the limits of common sense.  A wandering street-salesman carrying a rack of sunglasses and lighters is interrupted by the waitress as she sets down your large bottle of Saigon beer.  You pour the warm beer into your glass mug, the gold flowing over the large chunk of ice that was freshly sawn off the block with a semi-rusty handsaw.  As the cool beer hits your lips, you feel the mysterious serenity nestled in the relentless pulse of the chaotic city.

You hit the streets for a stroll, cautiously avoiding the portable bookstores – women carrying the latest photocopied bestsellers in stacks supported on their slightly deformed and protruding hips. But it is almost impossible to escape the street children so easily.  They flank you from both sides and attempt to sell you chewing gum at a price 5 times what you could pay at the 7-11 you are standing outside of.  After making them work for the sale, you hand over the equivalent of $1.25 (dong) for the pack of gum.  You realize quickly that you bought more than just gum, you gained their friendship.  The children bring out a shuttlecock and motion for you to join in kicking it around like a hackey-sack in the street, while the motorcycles and taxis do their best to navigate around you.  It’s 1:30am and these streetwise and savvy children have more energy than you do as you return to your $8 hotel room. 

The morning in Saigon is already sweltering as you gather a spare t-shirt and a couple friends to accompany you on a motorcycle mission into the mysterious Mekong Delta.  It doesn’t take long to realize that being timid will get you killed on these streets.  In survival mode, your bike hurtles into the torrent of traffic which encloses and crashes down on you, swirling you around in the turbulent wave of tires and smoke.  You hammer your throttle, as your only insurance policy seems to be the unwritten right-of-way owned by the tire that is furthest ahead. Speed limits in this part of the world are only defined as the differential between the size of your brain and the size of your balls.

Merely 20 minutes out of the city limits which you’d falsely assured the rental agency you’d remain within, your engine sputters and dies.  Your friends push you several kilometres along the highway at 80 km/h until you find a roadside mechanic to replace a faulty sparkplug.  As you line up for one of the river ferries to take you across the brown and sprawling waters, constant stares are thrown your way.  It is rare for foreigners to be in the Delta unattached to a tour bus, and people are often amused and interested in the wild hair and tattoos of your friends.  You adjust your helmet and join the fray of traffic descending down the bumpy ramp.  At the bottom, you pick up the fairing that fell off your bike and notice that your front brake lever pivot is dubiously held in place only by the gravity acting on a stripped bolt.  At least the throttle still works properly, so you twist your wrist and aim your bike in the general direction of some random town you chose from the map.

You collect vibrant images of Mekong life as you roll past modest houses, busy green fields, fume-choked cities, and brimming fruit markets.  In search of a local adventure, your eye catches a group of guys relaxing and waving to you from under a roadside tree.  As you and your friends sit down on the ground beside them, they select you to be the honoured recipient of a morsel of snake.  They force the dried chunk into your reluctant hand, which you then place into your even more reluctant mouth.  Before you finish cleansing your palate with local moonshine, they have already placed a piece of smelly dried fish in your hand.  You cause a slight distraction and tuck the fish into your shoe in an effort to side-step being rude.  The next culinary oddities are rather large duck eggs, which you immediately realize will not fit in your shoe without causing a scene.  They crack the tops of the eggs with a spoon to reveal an unhatched and mostly unfeathered resident, surrounded by what appears to be a grey fluid.  You are meant to suck the juice out from around the unhatched duck, but your unwilling mind and body utterly refuse to entertain the suggestion.  No one in your group is brave enough either, so the locals devour your portions as well as a few extras for good measure, while you laugh and exchange stories in your friend’s broken Viet language.  One of the more drunk and previously more friendly guys begins to hold out his hand, and you slowly come to the realization that none of this experience was a friendly gesture, but an unwanted restaurant extortion experience.  Price negotiations consist of bouts of refusal, screaming, indications of violence, and the eventual handing-over of a few dollar bills for the food that the locals mostly ate themselves!  You peel your bike around and ride away happy to escape unscathed.  As you gear up, the dried fish in your shoe slides down even deeper.

Other evenings in the Mekong consist of stumbling upon small local roadside restaurants where you devour various tasty plates while imbibing in cheap beers-on-ice and banana liqueurs, playing cards, and gathering flirtations, blushes, and marriage proposals in broken English.

After five days of becoming intimate with your sturdy steed, you are aware of your overconfidence as you squeeze your throttle and suck in the adrenaline.  You blindly overtake a series of large trucks, pointing your bike into oncoming traffic, aiming for the space where there is no space.

Saigon, Vietnam.  In my quest for Miss Saigon, this is about as close as I got!

Saigon, Vietnam.  Window washers streaming down the buildings of fashionable Saigon.

Saigon, Vietnam.  One of the local touts in the tourist area attempts to lure passengers for a ride on his foot powered cyclo.

Saigon, Vietnam.  Upon arriving in Saigon, a few of the Couchsurfers gathered at Natasha’s house for an evening social.

Tao Dan Park, Saigon, Vietnam.  These are two of my ‘english students’ that I helped out with their pronunciations.

Tao Dan Park, Saigon, Vietnam.  I think this is the only person allowed to step on the grass in this beautiful park.

  

Saigon, Vietnam.  The massive amounts of crazy traffic in and around the majestic trees of Tao Dan Park.

 

Saigon / Sa Dec, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Girls in traditional working and school uniform cycle the streets.

 

Saigon / Sa Dec, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  A few overloaded motos!

Ben Tre, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Jack and Chris chillax in the boat as we cruise through the canopy of palms.

Ben Tre, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  This yappy dog almost ends up in the soup pot… as I’m sure has happened to the rest of his mates for lesser reasons!

Somewhere, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  This random group of men were drinking moonshine and sucking the liquid out of dead duck eggs.  After eating snake, I had to stuff a piece of dried fish into my shoe, pretending I’d eaten it.  After a minor extortion, we rode away from that experience.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  At 5am, the workers have created an impromptu boneyard on the side of the street where they hack, chop, and pull the meat off the bones before the markets open.  My brain barely even registered this horrific scene as I strolled by with sleepy eyes still unaware of what was a dream or reality.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Jack, Chris, and I near one of the smaller floating markets.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Me chilling at the front of the boat while cruising past the canal slums near the floating markets.

 

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Life along the river includes washing your hair in it!

  
Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  More life and smiles among the floating markets of the Mekong.

 
Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Banana boats and brushing teeth in the river.

 

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Old man clearing the floating river cabbage from his riverfront property in the morning, and another old woman rowing her goods to the market.

Can Tho, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Woman washes up in the river as one of the many daily chores.

Somewhere, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  A crazy fish-catching contraption that yanks fish out of the water.

  

Sa Dec, Mekong Delta, Vietnam.  Life on the water is paralleled by life on two wheels!

Mu Nei, Vietnam.  Kitesufer rides a wave.

Mu Nei, Vietnam.  Kitesurfer catches air in Mu Nei while making me jealous I wasn’t out in the water.

Mu Nei, Vietnam.  After showing Mel how to fly a trainer kite, she opted to take some lessons in the Russian-mafia-infested town of Mu Nei.

Saigon, Vietnam.  The city is cloaked in amazing displays of Christmas lights as the masses of traffic whirl by.

The Killing Fields... Cambodia

Phnom Penh / Sihanoukville, Cambodia
November 4 - 23, 2008

I am sure most Westerners have never heard of the the Pol Pot regime and the relatively recent genocide of Cambodia in the years 1975-1979. During the Vietnam War, this neutral country was caught between the beliefs of ‘Communism’ and ‘Democracy’. Cambodia’s rights and borders were ignored by both parties, and eventually their government was ousted and replaced with corrupt (but useful) ‘democratic’ politicians who benefited financially from war. During this time, the Americans dropped 50% more bomb tonnage on Cambodia in a single year than was dropped on all off Japan for the whole of WW2. The stage was set for some Cambodians, formerly neutral, to reluctantly embrace Communism in order to protect themselves from the infringement of the 'democratic' powers. This set the backdrop for a very troubled and devastated country. Out of the turmoil emerged a European-schooled Cambodian, a ruthless individual named Pol Pot who orchestrated genocide against his own people.

Pol Pot’s vision was to turn Cambodia into an agrarian society focussed on the production of rice. He felt his vision would be threatened or hindered by scientists, scholars, western-educated people, Buddhist monks, and the crippled or lame. These people as well as those of other ethnic descents were tortured and killed in staggering numbers. What remains of this shocking genocide is a sobering tourist visit to the S-21 museum (formerly a high school-turned-torture-chamber) and the site of The Killing Fields where the mass executions occurred. I believe the Vietnam War was a catalyst that precipitated this horrendous blight on Cambodian humanity under the guise of honor and valor.

The recent generations of Cambodian people have lived with exceptionally corrupt political regimes and governments operating in their own self-interest and at the expense of their own people (which has also been happening in North America, although with a much more evolved and subtle strategy). Certainly, Phnom Penh remains an interestingly raw and gritty city, where laws and rules mean nothing, and where anything is available for the right price.

The real beauty of Cambodia is out in the green and brown countryside, where the simplicity of life and the smiles on people’s faces are balanced with the daily struggle of life. Cambodia and its beautiful people will remain one of my favorite travel experiences.


Rice Fields, Phnom Penh, Cambodia.  Running with the Hash House Harriers, run number 887 in Phnom Penh.


Rice Fields, Phnom Penh, Cambodia.  I spontaneously joined the Hash House Harriers, a worldwide and eclectic group of running and social enthusiasts, for run number 887 out of Phnom Penh.


Military Base, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
War disgusts me, but I always like to see things from different perspectives, so I thought I'd try something new. The complete lack of rules in Cambodia gave me the opportunity to shoot a Russian Kalashnikov (AK-47) assault rifle at a target. I opted not to shoot the rocket launcher at a living cow, but the option was available.


Railway Tracks, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Even though this old man didn’t speak a word of English, he insisted that I take his photograph as I walked by his shop on the edge of the abandoned railway track.


This is a small collage of some of the people tortured and killed in S-21


S-21 Torture Chamber, Cambodia
This former classroom served as one of the many torture chambers used by the Khmer Rouge.


These are some enthusiastic children that are playing along the abandoned railway tracks where they live.


Makeshift houses and small communities have sprung up along the old railway lines. These lakefront properties do not have facilities for garbage collection, so they live in their own refuse. Imagine if these people consumed on the scale that we do in our ‘developed nations’, where we are simply better at hiding our garbage from the public eye.

The Real Cambodia Is Green and Brown

November 3 - 6, 2008
Battambang, Cambodia

A wise friend recently wrote to me and told me the real Cambodia is green and brown. I thought I understood what he meant, but I am learning the difference between understanding and knowing. Leaving Siem Reap for Battambang, our rickshaw boat sputtered along for 8 hours through flooded lands, floating villages, and along a slow and winding river where people fished, bathed, swam, and worked. Intrigued by the life I saw along the river, I wanted to see more.

The next day, I turned my back on the tourist destinations and unimaginative touts and pointed my weathered rental scooter in no particular direction, just following the roads until they withered away into paths of gravel and then mud. Tourists don't go here. I dropped the bike into the lowest gear and crawled along the muddy roads lined with banana trees and rickety wood houses on stilts. As I passed, smiles erupted on the faces of children, sheepish smirks blossomed on the young women bathing in the rivers as their eyes met mine, and parents and grandparents rushed to call their kids to my attention if they weren't already following me with barefeet or bicycles. Everyone waved. I was followed by echoes of "Hello" or "Bye Bye" and not necessarily in the proper contexts! This is the real Cambodia... living along the brown life-giving rivers, the shady green trees, the luscious rice fields, and the muddy brown roads with not much else but a smile to their name.

Nearing the end of the path and the end of my day, I encountered a group of men sitting on a bamboo platform under a large sprawling tree next to a wet rice paddy. They were playing some sort of traditional violin and drum while singing into a microphone and speaker system. An old man held out an offer of a grimy glass of what I guessed was Cambodian moonshine. More for the opportunity than the moonshine, I hit the brakes. For the next hour or so I completely left my comfort zone, and somehow completely entered it at the same time. After some laughs, some shots of alcohol, offers of vegetables and fish heads and mysterious large bug-things, they put me on the microphone and expected me to perform. I searched in my memory for some prophetic Jim Morrison or Leonard Cohen lyrics, but nothing came... not even my well-memorized Beastie Boys lyrics. It didn't matter since. Not a word of English was understood except for 'hello'. I was alone in the moment. I sung and rapped and chanted anything that the rhythm of the drum pulled out of me. They joined in with my impromptu chorus lines and I joined in with their dancing as a few old women and children gathered to watch.

On an ancient scooter my insurance company would laugh at, in the darkness on slippery brown unlit roads, without a DOT-approved helmet, and with a couple smiles worth of Cambodian liquid in my system, I am free.



River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Young girl trying to survive the swells thrown off by our boat as we pass by. For all you overprotective people... notice no life-preserver!


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. The girls are always paddling, it seems.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Presumably a brother and sister out casting fishing nets.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. A bicyclist following the river at about the same pace as our river boat.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. After the daughter cooled herself off by pouring a bucket of water over her head, the father decides to do the same thing!


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Another young girl out fishing in her boat.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Young boy fishing in his boat.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Boys and their fishing nets along the banks of the river.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. School children from the floating villages returning to class. No life jackets in sight.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Same schoolchildren and their cacophony of paddles.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Sadly, there is just no good way to deal with the packaging waste of the modern world. In the western world, we tend to hide our dumps better, but this is the future we are leaving for all our children.


River boat - Siem Reap to Battambang. Everyone is friendly along the river. Several girls along the way take their time to showcase a little and blow kisses at our boat!


Scooter Day, near Battambang. Kids playing in something or other...


Scooter Day, near Battambang. A naked family sings and chatters away as they float along the river.


Scooter Day, near Battambang. Boy transporting his load along the roads.


Scooter Day, near Battambang. My music group. The old guy on the right wearing the dress seemed to be the leader, and is the one who offered me the moonshine as I putted by on my scooter.


Scooter Day, near Battambang. This is the tree under which the guys were playing music and chilling out.


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. A youngster returns home to his house in the rice fields.


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. A friendly couple of kids that joined me for a few hundred metres while smiling and laughing along the way.


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. An old woman tried to set me up (or marry me off) with this girl who owns and runs this roadside store. I ordered a Coke, and it took me a little bit to communicate that I would like some ice too. Finally she went to the cooler, and attacked the block of ice with a more than slightly rusty hacksaw, and then finished it off with an equally old hatchet...


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. There were a few of these guys transporting pots and pans throughout the countryside. Excuse the pun, but a few feet behind him was a one-legged amputee also on a bicycle.


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. Shy and cautious girl and her bicycle.


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. Girls walking through the muddy paths, caring for their siblings.


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. A suspension bridge surrounded by browns, greens, and blues.


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. This brave little kid didn't even hesitate... he stripped down to his underwear, climbed up onto the bridge, shimied up the cables, and threw himself off this bridge and into the brown waters below... then he continued to scrub his pants clean in the river. All part of a day's work. I don't think too many North American parents would survive the cardiac arrest if they saw their children doing this...


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. These boys just playing in the rivers.


Bicycle Day, South of Battambang. Bicycles and bridges.