Chapter VI:

Meanwhile, in Hu

I hovered over thea crusty ceramic sink, splashingk and splashed cold water over my face, in

the back of a shop somewhere in the city of Hu, Vietnam. It was a little after seven in the morning.

The air penetrating my lungs felt fresh penetrating my lungs, and the sun was already shining bright. I

was trying to recover from a sleepless night aboard a bus from Hanoi. The driver had been exceedingly

horn happy, and evidently carried a death wish for us all.

I had spent the last few days in Hanoi. From the moment I landed, I could tell that Vietnam was

different. It even smelled different, like a the smoky spirals of sweet cinnamon and cumin incense that

drifted through the streets and into my nostrils. It felt different, like there was a looming pain for the

past ,and optimism for the future, in every Vietnameses spirit. The food was fresher. I squat down

uponon a little plastic stool every crisp and cool morning in Hanoi to eat my breakfast in the alley in

front of one womans home. She fried tofu on the street with a spicy mandarin sauce. We ate with

chopsticks along with giant sprigs of mint. Despite the menacing guillotine, even a visit to Hoa Lo

Prison was made pleasant by the cheerful exhibit displaying pictures of American POW's playing

games and enjoying Christmas dinner.

Fried Tofu in Hanoi

Now in Hue, I emerged from the bathroom, exhausted, and was approached by a Vietnamese

man. He was short, thin, and had those stubbly patches of facial hair characteristic of an oOriental five Formatted

Comment [Jeanette 1]: You mean Asian? Oriental is usually derogatory.

oclock shadow. He introduced himself as Vien*, and offered his services as a private motorcycle tour

guide. I had about eight hours to kill before my connection, and the price was right at $8 for the whole

day. Im not usually one for tours, but I was in such a fatigued stateso tired that I didnt really want to

have to think for myself. I figured it would be easier to let someone else tell me what to see for once. I

accepted, hopped on the back of his bike, and we were on our way.

Hu was once the capital of the Nguyen dynasty up until World War II. After that, it became an

important strategic stronghold thanks to its location smack dab in the center of what is now Vietnam.

Although much of the historic structures were destroyed in conflict, Hue has a few remnants of the old

Citadel, as well as giant, city walls that still stand tall.

Vien and I crossed the Trang Tien Bridge over the Perfume River, and I was able to get a closer

look at the old city walls. I asked Vien to stop at some street vendors so that I could buy some exotic

Vietnamese fruit and spring rolls. He tried very hard to suggest that I go to a restaurant instead. Im not

sure if it was one of Viens friendsrestaurants that he was trying to persuade me into patronizing, or if

he was just finding it hard to believe that a tourist might prefer street food to restaurant fare.

Vietnamese Spring Rolls

I got back on the bike and we started riding away from the Citadel. It was notwasn't long before

we were surrounded by nothing but lush tropical forests and rice pattddies as far as the eye could see.

Vien turned the bike onto a dirt path that lay beneath a canopy of vines and palms. We rode up a hill,

and then he stopped. We were at the Thian Mu Pagoda. As I dismounted the bike, about a dozen women

and children ran up to me in hopes of selling me their postcards and other trinkets. They were very

persistent. I looked to Vien in desperation, and he shooed them away. Within thirty seconds or so, there

was another group of women and children invading my personal space in hopes of selling souvenirs.

Thian Mu Pagoda

No, kom! Kom! No thank you, kam ern, kom! I cried with a smile, in an attempt to disperse

the mob by butchering their language as politely as possible. It was very difficult just to maneuver on

foot from the motorbike to the entrance of the Pagoda, but with Viens assistance, I was able to make

my entrance.

Thian Mu Pagoda

Thian Mu Pagoda is a serene place for Buddhist worship set deep in the jungle. The structures

were artfully designed in the oOriental style of carved stone. I sat by the koi pond listening to the sound

of orange -cloaked monks chanting from the sanctuary, as well as the vibrant green leaves rustling in

the wind.

Thian Mu Pagoda

Back on the bike, Vien and I cruised through a rural village. Dozens of children in blue school

uniforms were walkinged or ridingode bikes down the dirt roads on their way to school. As we climbed

the hill and swung around the corner, the houses quickly turned into tarp -covered souvenir shops, and

the street became lined with giant tour buses. They spewed hoardsrdes of elderly British couples,

wearing fanny packs and visors. They , hunched forward from the weight of the expensive cameras that

swunginging from their necks ands they hobbled towards the royal tombs. I was instantly turned off by

the scene in front of me. I had no desire to go any further into this tourist dribble, so I turned to Vien.

Take me away from this touristy stuff. I want to see the real Hu.

Vien had trouble understanding what I meant. I asked him to take me to the places where he

wouldnt normally take tourists. He got an idea of a somewhere to go, so once again, we were off on

his motorbike. He turned off the road onto an even smaller dirt path that cut through a giant rice patty.

Ahead in the distance was a barrier of rocks and trees. Vien drove as far along the path as the bike

could handle, and then we got off and climbed the rocks.

View of South Vietnam from North Vietnam

Vien had taken me to a beautiful overlook, high above the winding river. We sat down uponon

large boulders and I asked him about the significance of this location.

Vien explained to me that the side of the river on which we were sitting was considered to be

North Vietnam. We sat gazing across the river into the forests of South Vietnam. Many Vietnamese

consider the Perfume River to be the boundary. That is why so much fighting went on around the city

of Hue during the Vietnam War. He went on to describe his pride in being born and raised on this side

of the river, in North Vietnam.

Formatted

Comment [Jeanette 2]: It's paddy.

View of South Vietnam from North Vietnam

We hung out there for a while, talking about our lives and taking in the scenery. He told me

about his wife and children, and asked why I wasnt home taking care of my children. This was a

frequent question asked of me in many parts of the world, and always very difficult to answer. I could

have told him how my ex-boyfriend was very controlling and that, when he started pressuring me into

marriage, I ran away. I could have told him all about feminism and the intellectual wanderings of a free

spirit. Instead, I told him I was on vacation.

Climbing down to his motorbike, Vien asked what I wanted to do next. I asked if I could meet

his family.

We set off for his uncles teahouse, situated in the city along the north bank of the river. It was

an open -air establishment, constructed of wood and bamboo. The teahouse had no walls, just support

poles, and a large canopy roof. When we arrived, there was nobody there except for his family. I asked

if I could use the facilities, and Vien took me to their home, located behind the teahouse. It was also

mostly open air. Women and children smiled and welcomed me with incredible amounts of surprise and

appreciation. They were all working together to take decorations down from the ceiling.

Viens sister escorted me to the bathroom, which was more like a wooden outhouse located not

too far from where the family ate. There was no light inside, just a few streams of sunshine struggling

to peek through the cracks in the wall. The toilet was a squatter, meaning just a hole in the ground. I

maneuvered the best I could in this dark cubicle, in hopes of not stepping somewhere undesiredable. I

had been traveling in Southeast Asia for a while by this time, so I was already prepared with hand

sanitizer and toilet paper of my own. In this part of the world, it isit's customary to clean oneself with

your left hand. This is one custom in which I was notwasn't interested in partaking.

Vien's sister taking down decorations

When we returned to the teahouse, the shop was suddenly filled with men. I guess Viens uncle

had gotten on the phone and called all of his friends over to hang out with this random white woman.

None of them spoke any English, but they all smiled and waved. They were eager to shake my hand

with giant, friendly smiles spread wide across their faces. Vien and I slid into tiny blue plastic chairs

with a round picnic table between us.

Would you like some beer? he asked.

No, thank you, I replied. It was about eleven thirty in the morning.

How about some tea?

Tea would be great! Vien called to his uncle and the man brought me a glass of warm tea. The

men of the tea house chattered on in Vietnamese, occasionally looking over and smiling at me, just to

make sure I was still there and content. Vien reached into his pocket.

Do you smoke? he asked.

Not cigarettes, I replied. Viens expression lightened and his eyes opened wide. He started

laughing.

Wait right here! he instructed as he rose from his chair and ran down the road. I waited for

him, drinking several more glasses of tea, as it was very tasty. His uncle was eager to refill my glass as

much as possible.

I amI'm pretty positive that I was the only person who noticed the sick and mangy dog

wandering in front of the tea shop. It seemed to lack a sense of balance, as if it were drunk. It collapsed

to the ground and started picking at its filthy and infected wounds. The dogs long white fur was

covered in dirt. It frothed at the mouth. As if this wasnt an unfortunate enough scene on its own; up

walked a couple of cute puppies that resembled the dog from the American toilet paper commercials.

They attempted to nurse from their mangy mother, but she only snapped back at them in rejection.

They walked away with sad little puppy faces and hungry, pathetic eyes. I realized that the mother was

too infirmed to nurse, which meant that her puppies would surely die.

Animal rights activists have been unsuccessful in reforming the way Vietnamese culture looks

at our fellow creatures. It isit's highly common to neglect animals in need, and to torture or abuse the

ones meant for consumption. This is a part of the world where widespread famine and desperation has

driven humans higher in the food chain. Cats and dogs are not offon the menu. It isit's comprehendsible

that, in the face of starvation, humans would turn to alternate food sources. However, there is no excuse

for the extreme maltreatment that these animals receive while they are still alive.

There has been, surprisingly, little study into the prevalence of animal cruelty in Vietnam. I did

notice a major contrast between the sheer numbers of stray dogs in this country versus Thailand.

Vietnam seemed to have very few, while Thailand was overrun with them. They were very aggressive

dogs in Thailand, too, made hard from life on the streets. I recalled one weekend when I was exploring

the ruins of Ayutthaya, the former Siamese capital. I stumbled upon an old deteriorating monument

filled with adorable little puppies. Naturally, my first thought was awww, until I looked up to realize

that I was surrounded by at least a dozen angry dogs, teeth bared and ready to attack. I backed away,

slowly and carefully, looking down at the ground as non-threateningly as possible. The dogs eyes

remained glued on me, and one was sent to follow me, until the pack was sufficiently satisfied that I

was no longer a threat.

The ruins of Ayutthaya, Thailand, where I stumbled uponon the well-guarded puppies

Back at the tea shop, I was relieved when Vien returned to take my mind off of the mangy dog

tragedy as it unfolded before my eyes. He sat back down at the table and handed me several dime -

sized balls wrapped in pages from a Vietnamese newspaper. I unwrapped one of my gifts to find a hefty

nugget of ganga.

Why, thank you, Vien! I said with a smile. This day just got a whole lot better.

Vien took a napkin from the table, tore it in half, and used it to roll a joint. Meanwhile, his uncle

poured me another cup of tea. Here I sat in a room full of Vietnamese men, staring, smiling, drinking

their beers, and getting a big kick out of watching some white women indulge in their local cannabis

culture.

Vietnamese Beer

Once I was sufficiently baked, I decided to cross the street so that I could spend the afternoon

chilling out in the grass on the riverbank. I looked across the river and tried to memorize yet another

view of South Vietnam from the opposing side. The hanging clothes, the tarps, and the cross in the

distance seemed to form a work of found art in my imagination. Everything seemed brighter: the red of

the roofs, the dyes in the clothes. I felt very relaxed and happy. I was ready to declare that Vietnam, by

far, had the best quality herb in all of Southeast Asia.

View across the river from the tea shop

After catching up with his Vietnamese friends and family, Vien came down to the riverbank and

joined me. He asked if I was okay, and I told him that I felt fantastic. We talked about how there was so

much garbage in the river. It was littered with plastic bottles and bags. Vien shared that, even though it

was dirty, he had fond memories of swimming in the river as a child. I told him that back in America,

Lake Michigan was very polluted as well, but we also swam in it regardless.

The north riverbank

I pointed out that I liked the long fishing boats, and he told me how the men would go out on

them early in the morning in order to get the best catch. Reminded of fish, and the consumption of

animals, I started thinking about the large, marinated dog I had seen roasting on a spit a few days prior

in Hanoi. I decided it was safe to ask Vien about the more controversial dietary habits of Vietnamese

cuisine.

Have you ever eaten cat or dog?

Oh, yes, of course, he responded casually, as if it were common practice. I paused.

What does it taste like? I finally inquired.

Dog tastes like beef, and cat tastes like chicken. His answer was simple. He didnt seem at all

bothered that I had asked. We sat and talked for a while more before it was time to return to the bus

station.

I drank another glass of tea to ease my cottonmouth, before bidding farewell to Viens family

and the merry men of the tea house. I tried to pay his uncle for the dozen or so glasses of tea I had

consumed, but he refused to accept my money.

Vien drove me back to the bus station and we said goodbye. He was, hands down, the coolest

and most easy going tour guide I have ever encountered. I keep him in my thoughts, and hope that Vien

and his family are doing well.

It was less than an hour into the bus ride when I realized that drinking all that tea was a huge

mistake. I had to pee like a racehorse. We were all tucked into our coffins, as I have heard other tourists

call the seats on Camel bus lines. This is because they are less like seats, and more like padded boxes

that the passenger must lay in for hours on end so that the bus companies can pile as many people on

top of each other as possible. I crawled out of my coffin and walked to the front of the bus.

May I please use the WC? As an American, I amI'm still not sure why the British call it a WC.

Although, I must admit, the argument of bathroom as an equally pointless term is completely valid.

You go there to use the toilet, and not to take a bath.

Closed, he said.

I dont understand, I replied.

Closed. No work.

Uh-oh. This was going to be a problem. I tried to console myself in the thought that it would

only be a five hour bus ride to Hoi An. I could make it, couldnt I?

Apparently not. I had literally drunk maybe a gallon of tea, and it was all sitting inside of me,

gurgling and swishing with every turn. Every bump in the road made it feel like my bladder was going

to explode like a giant urinary firework. I waited as long as I could, and then, clutching my stomach, I

made my way to the front of the bus.

Can you please stop? I REALLY have to pee.

One houwaur.

Shit. Could I hold it for an hour? I returned to my coffin. I groaned in pain. I never had to pee

so badly in my life. It hurt like hell! Oh, why did I drink all that tea before I got on a long bus ride?

What was I thinking?!

I waited over an hour. This guy still wasnt stopping. Did this man have no soul? Couldnt he

understand I was in pain? I tried again. He told me to wait another hour, but I could only let twenty

minutes pass before I started begging in desperation.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I have to PEE, man, Ill go right there on the side of the road, for

the LOVE OF GOD, please STOP!! Ill be fast, I promise! Holy SHIT!! I was fully prepared to drop

trousers in front of a bus load of people if it meant setting the tea free and ending my unbearable pain.

The driver finally caved and gave me the keys to the bathroom. I quickly hustled my way to the back of

the bus.

I opened the door to find that the bathroom was indeed out of order. The toilet had evidently

clogged, and was filled to the top with a liquid saturated in urine and feces. I wasnt sitting on that. My

years of ballet classes finally paid off as I lifted one leg out of my pants and into the air, propping it

against the wall behind the toilet. With my free hand, I clutched one leg of my rolled up pants, while

still wearing the other leg, for fear of them ever touching that feculent es-laden floor. What transpired

then was the greatest, most glorious pee of my entire life.

I thought all was well with the world, and was returning my leg into my pants, when our course

suddenly changed and the bus started going uphill. All of that putrid, repulsive liquid came pouring

back at me, drenching my legs and feet. I resisted the urge to vomit and decided it was best to vacate

the premises as quickly as possible.

With my pants still unbuttoned, I opened the bathroom door and stepped out of my flip flops

and onto dry land. I decided that that was the end of those flip flops. They were not worth saving, but a

loss of the great flood. Another woman tried to get into the bathroom after me, and I told her that it was

a really bad idea. She didnt believe me, oh why dont they ever believe me! Barefoot, I retreated to my

coffin, where I proceeded to dump massive amounts of hand sanitizer all over my feet and legs. I didnt

feel very high anymore, but at least my pee was set free.

Lantern festival in Hoi An

When I got to Hoi An, I desperately scurried around town in search of accommodation. I had

gotten there just in time for the lantern festival, and all of the rooms were full. I met a Canadian girl

named Jezebel* in front of a hotel and asked if I could split her accommodation. She was also

traveling alone and had an extra bed in her room, so we became roommates. It was also her thirtieth

birthday. As a gift, I took her out to dinner at the greatest and most amazing vegetarian buffet I have

ever encountered. We gorged on flavorful tofu and tempe, followed by a walk around town to

appreciate the bright lights and colors of the lantern festival and watch glowing dragons float down the

river.

Vegetarian buffet

Hoi An is famous for its tailors, silk, and handmade clothing. We went into one shop where

Jezebel tried on a dress. After we left, she realized she had forgotten her camera in the dressing room.

When we returned to the shop, the employees acted like they knew nothing about the camera. It was

unfortunate that Jezebel lost her camera and all of her pictures on her birthday. The same thing had

happen to me a few weeks earlier in Koh Tao. As travelers, it isit's important to accept that anything

valuable is at risk of being lost or stolen along the way. Material possessions can be equally as fleeting

as the moments we share.

Jasmine by the sea (eyes need to be blacked out for publishing)

The next day, we rode bicycles to the ocean. The beach was empty. We were the only souls for

as far as the eye could see.

Jezebel and I jumped into the water to swim withamong the giant waves. We , jumpeding into

crests as they pulled at our bodies. At one point we stood between waves, and Jezebel pointed at my

chest, laughing hysterically. One of my breasts had popped out. I tucked it back in, eyes darting back

towards the shore to make sure we were still alone. Sure enough, this was the exact moment when two

Vietnamese men had been walking along the sand. They were now smiling contently like mischievous

little boys.

Jezebel ducking beneath the waves

Youre welcome! I shouted at them, laughing as they waved at us. The men kept on walking

and were gone before we finished swimming.

Jezebel and I endured almost twenty hours aboard another coffin bus in order to reach Mui Ne

to go wind surfing. As we strapped on our helmets, Jezebel requested to take a picture of me. I

declined.

Why not? she asked.

The last thing the world needs, I joked, is another picture of an American wearing a helmet

in Vietnam! Everyone laughed.

Wind surfing was a lot of fun, and Im pretty I was fairly good at it, but my teacher was weird.

He was a well-toned black man who had been born and raised in the Caribbean island of Barbados. He

had long black dreadlocks and an obsession with my feet. The manner in which he explained how to

handle the kite was very vulgar and breamimming with constant sexual references.

After surfing, Jezebel and I lay back uponon beach chairs and tried to relax, despite the

incessantly strong winds which pelted bits of sand at our bodies and into our faces. Our instructor

came up and tried to rub my feet, but I pulled away. He told me that he would have a special gift just

for my feet when I came into lessons the following day. I was up at dawn waiting to board the bus to

Saigon.